What You Want to See
by rexroy101
Summary: After Steve had lost his eyesight, he never thought he would feel comfortable living on his own. Good thing the people in his apartment complex are out to make sure Steve can cope. Yes, they are a little weird, but Steve is sure that they are all looking out for his well-being. And wouldn't you know it, for once he's right. Will update every Friday. If I don't, please message me
1. Natasha Romanova Clint Barton

So I realized that I posted this to my AO3 account, but not here... sorry! I'll catch you up to the first 3 chapters...

* * *

The alarm sounded to the right of the bed, startling Steve into awareness. He stirred in the soft sheets, turning onto his back before opening his eyes. He stared into the darkness in confusion, his mind noting that with his eyes open, he should be seeing something.

Steve quickly closed his eyes before the panic that was cresting the side of his mind could settle into a full attack.

Right, he couldn't see anymore. The realization sunk into his mind like it did every morning, slowly seeping into every crevasse in cold fear. After a year Steve thought he should be over this feeling, but it seemed that it would be here to stay for quite a while longer. His psychologist had assured him that the depression would pass, that soon he would be feeling like his normal self as his body adjusted. Humans are amazingly adaptable like that.

But Steve suspected that his brain was as shit as his body and would break down somewhere along the process. Maybe it would twist in the wrong way, like the scoliosis in his spine did. Or maybe it would like to clench up on itself like his asthma liked to do in his chest. Perhaps it would start to feel better only to flutter whenever it damn felt like it, like his heart sometimes did. Or maybe it would forget to important parts of the world like his colorblindness had and his partial deafness tended to still do. Or perhaps it would just not work right, like his entire body.

Steve yanked himself from his self deprecating thoughts, like his therapist always told him to do, focusing on what he was going to do next.

Sit up, put feet on left side of bed, stand up. 14 steps to his closet, open left door, grab shirt. Open right door, grab pants. Do not forget to close doors, again! Last time had given Steve a giant bruise on his shoulder and anxiety of moving around his room for a week. Move back 14 steps to bed. Put on clothes. Walk right 17 steps, turn left. Open door and leave room. 30 steps to kitchen and then decide what he needed to do next.

But first, he had to turn off that annoying alarm.

* * *

Steve and his therapist had decided that Steve needed to live away from the Disability Center that had housed him after his accident. He had no family, so it was easy to decide that he should live on his own. His therapist wanted him to live in the suburbs, away from his work and the high crime rate that was always found in the city, but Steve had always loved Brooklyn. It was his home for all of his life, and even though he couldn't draw the cityscape anymore, it was where he felt the most comfortable.

Steve and his therapist had compromised on a small apartment complex that had two tenants per floor with 3 floors. It was cheap, it was near public transportation, and it was near a grocery store. It would severely help Steve adjust to his new… life.

The apartments were surprisingly spacious for the rent he was paying. He had a kitchen/living room, full bathroom, and two full rooms besides. Steve had first thought it was a complete con before he met the owner.

Tony Stark was an energetic ball of sarcasm and disdain. But his attitude towards people as well as money helped Steve understand why no one wanted to live in the cheap place. Having to put up with that type of personality would be hard for anyone. But the price was just sooo nice that Steve had to take it. He would deal with Tony the same way he dealt with bullies in high school. Ignore until he had to confront.

The other tenants in the building weren't too bad. They all had their own eccentricities, but when Steve had talked to them, they seemed nice enough.

Steve's therapist encouraged Steve to talk to his neighbors, finding that such communication would greatly help keep Steve's depression at bay. Having a community that he could rely on was important as Steve adjusted. And having helpful people nearby meant that he had a larger amount of autonomy, knowing he could call on anyone of them if he needed to.

Steve had wanted to start with his next door neighbor, but the man always seemed to be out during the day. So, Steve had first met the couple that lived downstairs.

Natasha was a Russian who had come to the US when she was a child. Apparently she had been a ballerina for a while before she had started dating her current lover. She never discussed what she did now, and Steve found it too personal to ask. She was cold and collected with a quick wit and almost inhuman ability to know "things" about a person.

When she had noticed Steve's blindness, she was quick to describe herself, seeming to sense that Steve was still new to meeting someone without being able to put a look to the voice. She had described herself as late-twenties red head with green eyes. And apparently a "kick ass" body, as her partner so loved to describe it.

Her partner, Clint, was much more laid back, always seeming to have a joke on his tongue. Clint had described himself as a brown haired twenty-something man with amazing arms that came from his archery "skillz". Clint had specifically told Steve to put a 'z' on the end because he was that good. Apparently these "skillz" came from Clint's childhood as being a performer in the circus. When Steve asked, Clint had regaled him with stories, each one getting more and more impossible as Clint continued.

The balance between Natasha and Clint seemed to have an electric sense to it. Steve could feel how Clint was Natasha's anchor, while she was his driving force. It was such a strong dynamic that it seemed almost choking in its strength. But despite the balance, Natasha seemed to be the one in charge. Clint allowed her to talk and make decisions more often than he did. And Natasha's personality seemed to eclipse Clint in its brightness.

Frankly, Steve loved the couple. They had been kind towards him, inviting him into their house and serving tea as they took the time to talk to him. The room had smelled very sharp, like fresh bleach was put down every day, but Steve didn't mind it. He had cocked it up to just one of their peculiarities.

Another was their frequent addition of furniture.

For example, just last week Steve had decided to go grocery shopping. It was his one "out of the house" activity for the day, and he was running low on soup, only having 5 cans left. He had left the apartment dressed in some colored shirt and some type of pant. He decided he was going to leave with just a small windbreaker since the TV that was always on in his kitchen had talked about the weather being in the mid 50s.

He was taking the stairs carefully, his hated walking cane lazily dropped on his left shoulder as he descended. Not the safest place for it to be, but Steve was having one of those "bad days" and wasn't in the mood to use it properly. He had heard some thumping and dragging noises as he came to the 12th step. Realizing it was coming from Natasha's floor, Steve stepped into the hallway slightly confused.

"Hello?"

All noise stopped in the area immediately. Steve froze as the silence alerted him that something was wrong.

"Natasha?" He questioned the darkness, pulling his walking cane closer to his feet and taking a tentative step toward the noise.

What if it was a dog, or burglar or something trying to get into his friends' room?

"Natasha?" Steve whispered out, uncertain all over again.

"Oh, Steve, I didn't see you there," her bright voice answered out from the void, though it sounded a little out of breath. Steve relaxed, letting himself slip out of the automatic fight or flight stance he had taken.

"What's going on? I heard something heavy being moved over here, and…"

There was a beat of silence, before, "Clint and I are just moving in a new couch. We were having a hard time moving it through the door."

Steve wondered at the hesitation before he took a step forward. "Well how about I help you? I can at least lift a couch." Steve took another step towards where Natasha's voice was. A small part of his brain quivered, like something was wrong, but Steve easily ignored it. Everything felt wrong nowadays.

"No thanks. I don't think you'll be able to be of much help." Came a harsh reply.

Steve froze in place, a little shocked by the blunt response. He knew that his blindness was limiting, but he could still help out a little. "Yeah, I guess I wouldn't be much help." He mumbled to himself, hugging the cane a little closer to his body. His crutch in life. Another reminder of how he couldn't be normal anymore.

"It would be too large for you to carry," Natasha's conciliatory voice floated by again. "I would be worried it would crush you." There was a hint of guilt underlying the statement, and Steve realized she hadn't meant to insult him.

He grinned in her direction, but had a strong suspicion that it wasn't as cheerful as he wanted it to be. "You're right, it would probably be too much for me." He scuffed his foot on the floor before turning slightly, still "looking" in Natasha's direction. "Well I should get back to grocery shopping." And without even a good-bye, Steve turned to leave.

But before he could take a step, he felt a wrongness in the air ahead of him, like there was something blocking his way. Cautious and curious, Steve moved his cane out a little ahead of him, looking for the obstruction. But it didn't catch on anything.

Steve felt a slight worry, wondering if he was going crazy now too, before shaking it off and moving forward again, not meeting any resistance as he moved towards the staircase.

He thought back to his interaction with the couple, just now realizing that he hadn't heard Clint the entire time.

"I hope she didn't kill him or something," Steve muttered to himself, smiling at the thought of Natasha killing her boyfriend and dragging his corpse into her apartment. It was an idle thought, though quite morbid. But it was fitting with his mood today.

Steve cussed as he tripped over the last step, miscounting as his thoughts wandered away.

* * *

Natasha glowered at Clint as she tried to drag the deadweight into her room. The man just watched her, a playful smirk on his mouth as he leaned against the wall on the other side of the hallway, looking quite relaxed. He was moping about not being able to choose the target this time. It was such a childish reaction that Natasha almost smiled even though her annoyance was taking up most of her emotional space.

She was about to open her mouth and yell at him to get his ass over here and help her when a soft "hello?" filled the hallway.

Natasha froze in place, her head snapping around to look at their small blonde neighbor. He was standing there in the middle of the hallway, staring at her in bewilderment.

Fear crashed around her as she stared at the khaki wearing man. They had worked so hard for this apartment and now they were going to be found out? All because Clint was being an ass!?

Clint had already strung his bow and was pointing an arrow at the young man, ready for his screaming to start as he saw them pulling a black bag that looked strikingly like a dead body into their room.

"Natasha?"

The red head almost flinched at her name, barely keeping herself from showing any fear. She had liked the small blonde that had visited them when he had moved in. He was kind and bright, a large difference to the people that she and Clint hunted. She had wanted to keep the blind man around for a little-

Blind! Natasha's eyes pinpointed on the white cane that the boy was now pulling towards his body, his face taking on a cautious, uncertain look. There was no way the kid would be able to see what they were doing no less tell anyone about it!

"Natasha?" Came the worried query, the boy seeming to shrink in on himself again, his body tensing.

"Oh, Steve, I didn't see you there," Natasha managed, her eyes flitting to her partner who had circled behind the blonde, still ready to kill if the boy showed signs of having figured out what had happened.

Steve seemed to relax at her answer, his grip on his walking stick loosening and he took a step forward. "What's going on? I heard something heavy being moved over here, and…"

Natasha tensed again, sending a glare at Clint to remind him that it was his fault they were in this situation in the first place. "Clint and I are just moving in a new couch. We were having a hard time moving it through the door." Natasha lied, a small frown flitting onto her mouth at the stupid excuse she made up. Clint also sent her an unimpressed glance, but he was in the dog house right now, so it didn't matter what he thought.

"Well, how about I help you? I can help you lift the couch." Steve took another step closer to the edge of the bag.

Natasha almost rolled her eyes at the bleeding heart that this man had. But no matter how naïve he was she needed to stop this before he took those next two steps and felt something that was definitely not a couch. "No thanks. I don't think you'll be able to help much."

And then she was graced with the saddest kicked puppy expression she had ever seen.

Guilt flickered through her as she saw what her reply did. She watched as the young man pulled in on himself again, this time from sadness rather than fear. "Yeah, I guess I wouldn't be much help." He muttered, his face turning downwards.

"It would be too large for you to carry. I would be worried it would crush you." Natasha attempted. She felt bad about hurting the man's feelings, she could only imagine how losing your sight would limit what you did.

Natasha would hate to be blind. Her world was focused on what you could see. Dancing was a very visual sport. And the things she loved in life were very visual too. She wouldn't be able to see the brilliant colors that the human eye turned after the host died. She wouldn't be able to see the beautiful hair that she collected from her noncompliant guests. She wouldn't e able to see Clint take that artful kill shot from the rooftop. Truly, not being able to see would be a terrible fate.

The conciliatory remarks didn't seem to do their job as Steve just gave a self-deprecating smile. "Your right, it would probably be too much for me." He turned away from her, his mouth still pulling out this sad look. "Well I should get back to grocery shopping." And Steve turned his back to her.

Natasha watched on as the blonde paused in his exit, sliding his cane forward in front of him. Clint silently avoided the swing, a mildly impressed look covering his previously dark features.

Steve gave a small shrug before continuing on his way, walking into the stairwell.

Natasha let out a small breath of relief. That had been amazingly stressful. She would never have thought that the small blind man could make her sweat so much from just walking onto her floor at the wrong time!

"The kid can sense things," Clint muttered, stepping over to his partner, and finally helping her move her prize inside. "I didn't make a sound and yet he knew that something was behind him."

Natasha rolled her eyes at his dramatics as they both dropped the corpse by the wall in the room. "Well, being blind probably heightens other senses. He most likely just heard you breathing or something." Natasha muttered back. "And speaking of hearing, we wouldn't have been in that situation if you had just helped me get the body through the door when we got here!"

Clint shrugged, kicking the black body bag. "I wanted the brunette! She was so drugged out of her mind she wouldn't have noticed a thing. And plus no one would miss her as much as they would miss this beauty."

Natasha sighed as she kneeled down, unzipping the bag. "But then I wouldn't have gotten this beautiful hair." She fingered the blonde locks gently, watching the gold slide between her fingers. "I've been wanting to grab a blonde all week! It has been an itch under my skin. And you know how bad those can get."

Clint kneeled down, reaching forward to pry open the eyes. "So, it wasn't the blue eyes?"

Natasha shrugged. "That was part of it. I've been too tempted in this apartment." Her eyes flitted to the door to the hallway where her neighbor had stood not a minute ago. "He's such a pretty boy."

Clint snorted as he pulled out his knife to begin taking apart the body. Natasha had such a bad habit of getting obsessed with certain traits. But at least next time he would get his busty brunette! He had seen her once, and now she was marked in his mind.

She would be his next target.

* * *

Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton (aka The Cupid Killer)

MO: Current kill count- 7 20-30 yr. old women. All taken from downtown bars and dives. Killed with a single arrow through the heart. Arrow is a broadhead shot from a recurve bow. Bodies are usually discovered in the business in a black trash bag. The body is completely dismembered at time of discovery. Parts of body are taken, usually consisting of eyes or hair, though hands and feet have been harvested from the victim. Harvesting has been done skillfully with a scalpel. No signs of sexual molestation or rape have been found.

Natasha is the alpha personality of the group, but unlike many other serial killer pairs, Clint is not as submissive or stupid as the secondary killer. He just doesn't mind letting the more intense Russian red-head take the lead. Their kills are based on coveting what a woman has and on the fact that the woman does not use said attribute to it's fullest potential. Many of their choices tend to be drug addicts, though it is not a requirement. Natasha usually leads target out of bar and onto a rooftop where her partner will take the kill shot and the two of them work to remove whatever body part was wanted. Police think that there is only one killer at this time.

So this fanfic came from reading another fanfic's summary incorrectly. It had said "Steve was blind and didn't know what was going on in the apartment below him..." It was meant as a hurt/comfort fanfic about Steve meeting Bucky downstairs, but all I thought, in my Criminal Minds ravaged brain was... "Yeah, cause they were all serial killers." And then this idea of Steve blindly wandering around not noticing that his neighbors were literally killing people came into my head. Yeah, my humor tends to be on the weird side...

Hope you liked the first installment.


	2. James Buchanan Barnes

Steve entered his kitchen slowly; wishing just once that he could cross the kitchen without thinking, grab his mug from the cabinet without worrying, that he could just pour water in the coffee machine without checking the amount with his finger.

Steve touched the edge of the counter, feeling the cool granite. He carefully followed it around the edge of the kitchen, carefully counting out the ridges that he passed. The fourth ridge in the marble edging marked where his plates were, the fifth one was under the cabinet for his glasses and mugs. Mugs on the right, glasses on the left.

Steve was careful about filling his coffee pot. The first week he had a bad habit of overfilling the machine and then hot water would flow over the edges and usually ended up scalding him when he hastily reached forward at the beeping sound.

After making sure his coffee was brewing correctly, his mug carefully pushed against the notch that signaled the place directly beneath the spigot, Steve leaned back against the counter. He closed his eyes, even though it didn't change anything.

It had scared him at first. Sometimes, when there was no sound around him, no one talking, no music playing, he wondered if he had gone to sleep. As if the world around him had just stopped existing.

He actively avoided that feeling. He played an assortment of songs, usually more classical songs since they tended to last longer. The TV in his kitchen, which was a constant hum of news anchors talking about the world's problems, was a new addition to Steve's attempt to never be in silence. But even with all those ambient noises, Steve sometimes felt like he lost himself to the nothingness. He was always forced to focus on the now. Like how now his ears picked up the soft whir of the coffee machine, the grumble of electricity boiling water, and the drip of coffee hitting ceramic. He focused on these noises to stay in the present.

While Steve drank his coffee he decided to forgo breakfast for the day. Coffee would be enough to help him make it to lunch. And then maybe he would go to that new restaurant down the street. Yeah, that was something his therapist always encouraged: trying new things and doing something outside his comfort range every day. It would also break up the monotony of his job.

Decided, Steve moved his way carefully across the living room to grab his coat and shoes. He had walked for three seconds before he noticed that he had forgot to start counting. Cursing under his breath he held his hands out ahead of him, taking slow steps so he wouldn't hurt his hands when he reached the wall.

Rough drywall brushed against his fingertips, letting Steve breathe out unsteadily. The nervous energy that welled up inside him was overwhelming at times.

Taking a breath to bolster himself, Steve continued along the wall, one hand around hip height so that he could feel the small table that was pushed against this wall. He brushed his hands along the table, looking for the pair of sunglasses that he normally wore when he left the house. Some people were very off-put when his eyes wouldn't focus on anything. He had taken to wearing the sunglasses so that he wouldn't disturb strangers. And, if he was being honest, so no one would disturb him.

Navigating himself around that rounded table, Steve reached out and touched the course material of his windbreaker, The next jacket was his heavier jacket, which Steve grabbed off the hook and navigated it around his shoulders. Lately someone had been constantly blowing AC through his work building, making it unbelievably cold.

His jacket on, his keys and wallet safely tucked in his pocket, which was their forever-home, Steve was finally ready to put on his shoes. His shoes were always the longest part of his morning. Steve had to carefully feel each shoe to make sure that they matched, and then had to carefully make sure that he was putting the right feet in the right shoe. It was one of his only points of pride. He had been able to tie his shoes since he was five. He was 25 now and could very well take care of it himself.

Finally ready to brave the world, Steve pulled his door open, taking a few cautious steps into the hallway. He was always nervous that he would run into someone standing right outside his door. Sometimes it felt like someone was just standing there waiting for him. Those feelings had yet to prove true, but Steve could swear he felt a presence in front of him half the times he left for work.

Out in the hallway, Steve took a large breath through his nose trying to see if he could smell any blood. His neighbor tended to have the worst nosebleeds. Sometimes the entire corridor would smell like that copper tang. Steve had met him on one of those days.

* * *

Steve had been moved into his apartment for two weeks before he had met his next door neighbor. Steve had just stepped into the hallway, his mind on the amount of steps it would take to get to the staircase, when he heard a shuffle to his right. He paused in his movements, turning towards the noise uncertainly.

It sounded like someone was fiddling with the lock of the next door. Could this be his mysterious neighbor who came in at the oddest hours of the day? This guy was so quiet that Steve had wondered if anybody had even lived there until he heard a marathon of Criminal Minds blare out in some ungodly hour of the night.

"Um, hi," Steve started out, unsure if his neighbor would be even interested in talking to him. He sounded pretty busy.

…And _now_ it sounded like no one was there.

The shuffling that Steve had thought he had been hearing was completely gone! Like Steve's mind had decided to start inventing noises! What the hell was with this? First he thought he was going crazy when he dealt with Natasha, Clint, and their random moving furniture fad not more than a week ago. Now he still wasn't sure if his ears were trustworthy!

"Hello?" Steve questioned out, feeling an absurd amount of deja vu.

"What!" a rough growl sounded back.

Part of Steve wanted to pull back into himself, to apologize to this gruff man who seemed to be very pissed off at the moment. But another part, the part that got him thrashed in high school, bared its teeth at the rude man. He had just wanted to talk! Perhaps just a general passing "Oh yeah, we live next to each other," conversation at most. But this guy was acting so hostile right off the bat!

"Sorry," Steve gritted back, "I was just wanting to make sure you heard me." _And that I heard you._

"Well, I heard you," came the snappy reply.

Steve felt his hands start to close into tight fists at his sides. What was with this guy? Who was so rude to someone they just met!?

Steve opened his mouth in a huff, ready to send back some scathing, witty remark that his mind was racing to come up with, when he smelled it. There was a deep copper tang. It floated into the air and laid heavy at the back of his tongue. It reminded him of dry summers and pain throbbing in his cheek after being punched. Steve took another small huff, trying to make sure that he was really smelling this. It was rather worrying at the level of saturation in the air.

"Is that blood?" Steve asked, turning his head as if he was searching the hallway. It was an old habit from when he could still see.

Steve opened his mouth as he inhaled this time, letting the air cover his tongue.

"Is there some blood around here? Can you see anything?" Steve asked, turning his head back in the general direction of his "conversation" partner. "I can smell a lot of blood!" A small bit of fear flickered through his voice now that he couldn't see what he thought was already there.

"What do you mean "smell"?"

Steve jerked back with how close the guy sounded.

A hand grabbed onto his arm, the fingers encompassing the entire bicep.

"What do you mean smell?" The man repeated, his hand tightening.

"What the-" Steve started, trying to pull himself from the man grabbing him.

"Are you blind?"

Steve paused at the suddenness of the question. After finding out what it was like to really be blind, it was weird to hear people use it as an exclamation. Weird, and super annoying. He had come to hate that saying. Steve rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, letting his voice become dry and bitter.

"Yes, actually," the blonde spit at his captor, "I can't see, so that's why I was asking _you_ if there was any blood around here. Now would you let go of me!" Steve yanked at his arm again in irritation.

Steve _would_ have shied away from the touch on his face if he had been suspecting it, but one moment, he was standing there, trying to get away from his clearly neurotic neighbor, when his sunglasses were ripped from his face.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing!?"

Steve glared out into the darkness, hoping that the man would be in the general direction of his eyes.

He felt a small puff of air against his cheek, and had a horrible revelation.

"Are you waving your hand in front of my face?" Steve asked, nonplussed. The hand still wrapped around his arm loosened at the question.

"…No," his neighbor muttered. Steve ignored how sheepish the answer seemed.

The blonde sighed and held his hand out before his body. "Now that you've stared long enough, can I have my glasses back?" He made sure to keep his voice snappish.

The hand on his arm loosened, and Steve was once again standing alone in the darkness.

His glasses were firmly placed into his hand, his fingers brushing against someone's palm as he carefully closed them around the object.

Steve brought his finally freed arm up to uncross the sunglasses and put them precariously on his face. He made sure to keep his fingers on the inside of the legs of the glasses, always worried about poking his eye out if he wasn't careful when he put them on.

After a bit of shuffling, Steve finally had everything back in place.

"So, is there blood around here or something?" Steve asked again, still annoyed and miffed at this man's reactions.

"Oh, uh, yeah… I have a nosebleed," came the stuttered reply.

Steve paused at the answer mildly confused. "Do you need some tissues?"

"…No."

Steve wondered about the hesitation in this guy's answers. "…Okay. If you're fine without them." Another silence filled the void and Steve remembered why he came out of his room in the first place. He had turned and carefully walked in the direction of the stairs when he realized he forgot something.

Steve couldn't help himself from sighing one more time as he turned back around to face his neighbor. "I'm Steve Rogers, by the way. It was… nice to meet you."

Steve waited for a reply, but when a minute passed, he grit his teeth and turned back towards the stairs. He was feeling around for the door handle when he finally got his reply.

"I'm Bucky."

Steve twisted and waited for a last name, but when none was given just rolled his eyes and huffed out an "It was nice to meet you, Bucky," before leaving the hallway.

* * *

James Barnes leaned his head against the door to his apartment, feeling the tired weight wrap its way around his shoulders and pull at his muscular frame. He huffed out through his mouth, watching with dazed interest as the longer pieces of his scraggly hair twitched in the breeze as if they were alive.

He should go into his room before anyone saw him like this. The police couldn't connect him to the murders now, but all the blood that was literally on his hands might be some good evidence for his misconduct.

But he just was too tired. The last kill had taken a lot of energy, and now that all the bloodlust was gone, James felt empty. This feeling was coming around more and more often after his hunting. Instead of that sense of fulfillment, that release of anger and pressure, James just wanted to pull into himself. Disappear from the world. Only when he was stabbing repeatedly into those hateful warm bodies did he feel somewhat normal.

Finally, the brunette forced himself to move. His hand fished inside the long black pockets of his oversized pants. His leather jacket that he had gotten at the army surplus moved easily, supple and stretched across his shoulders, but not too tight around his elbows or wrists. The all black attire helped in his hunting, allowing him to blend into the shadows and to hide the bloodstains that always splashed him when he hit the adrenaline overdrive.

The half gloves on his hands helped him grip his knife better, but they always seemed to gather the gore in between their creases. James had an almost unlimited supply of them in his room, continuously having to burn the previously used ones, since they were unsalvageable.

After what felt like an eternity of his fingers numbly rustling his pocket, James finally found the lanyard that was attached to his key. He pulled it out and tried to fit it into the keyhole on his door. It was difficult to have any depth perception with his head firmly planted on the door, so Bucky kept on missing the lock. The situation seemed hazy to him, like he was looking down a long tunnel at the back of his mind as someone else controlled his fingers.

A hint of paranoia flashed through the back of his mind at the thought of someone else controlling him. With the flash of fear, other mutterings came to the forefront of his mind.

People didn't appreciate what he did. He was a visionary. He helped society. And yet that society had turned against him, had started to blare on newspaper stands about how his purges were obliterating lives.

What lives? Those people would only destroy society and what James was trying so hard to protect!

The world was full of sheep, and James was the wolf sent to sparse out the unhealthy. Hidden in the rest of civilization, James was meant to destroy the sick and degenerate. He was there to save those little sheep from horrible fates. But the sheep didn't understand. They tried to stop him, aiming to protect the malign cancer that seemed to seep through the herd. They didn't understand what greatness he was committing by destroying those bad sheep. They didn't realize that he was shaping a century.

James was so far in his thoughts that he didn't notice the sound of his next door neighbor's door opening. Later he would curse himself for not noticing the small blonde that stepped into the hallway, but at the moment James was still hazily imagining the human shells that he had left behind.

"Um, hi" broke through the constant whir of thoughts, and James froze in place, head twitching so he could stare at the new arrival out of the corner of his eye.

There wasn't much to stare at. The man, or was it a boy, was small maybe 5'1" at most. The coat that seemed to hang from his shoulders emphasized the smallness of his body. His face was surprisingly wide, a strong chin and jawline. The sunglasses that hid his eyes were rather ridiculous looking, they were so big and took up nearly half of his face.

"Hello?"

James sneered at the annoyed tone in the boy's voice. It must be a stupid sheep to pick a fight with him! All the other sheep that met him could see the wolf that slunk through his skin and kept their distance.

"What!" He snapped back, baring his teeth.

The blonde responded how Bucky knew he would, pulling back in fear, just like he should. At least initially. Then that small little sheep, a lamb really, pulled itself together, straightening its spine, and its mouth going thin.

"Sorry. I was just wanting to make sure you heard me." The boy bit out, his lips pulling down into a frown.

James scrutinized the boy once more. "Well, I heard you." This was much different than he had expected the conversation to go. The small blonde had more courage than many criminals he met in alleyways. His interest was piqued.

James narrowed his eyes at the sheep, a small buzz of excitement working it's way through his system as he watched the sheep's hands fist. He watched that red mouth open wide, seeming to be ready to nip back at his jarring response. James almost smiled as the blonde hesitated. Maybe he was rethinking pissing off someone who so outmatched himself in height and strength.

"Is that blood?"

Or not.

James stomach plummeted. He glanced over at his hand, still touching the handle of the door, already knowing what would be there. The red streaking on the door just emphasized the blood that clung to his glove. The edges of his sleeves were still dark from the wet splotches that covered them up to his elbow. His keys looked like they were covered in dark red paint.

He had kept the secret so well! He had always been careful to dispose of his kills in different states. He made sure that he didn't leave evidence. He traveled back to his home on different paths every time! He once even climbed up the back wall to enter into his third story window! And here, here a doorway away from safety, some little lost _kid_ had found out about him!

And now James would have to do the one duty that he hated. The one necessary to his responsibility to protect the world.

He twisted and stalked forward, his eyes locked on the small blonde. His right hand freed the hunting knife from its hiding place against the small of his back. Part of him felt pity for the little lamb. It looked terrified, its small mouth open in a silent scream.

Or maybe they were just open so that the lamb could talk. "Is there some blood around here? Can you see anything?"

The questions were confusing to James. He paused in his hunt, his body just a foot away from his prey, his knife arm already prepped to take the killing blow. Maybe that was the point of the question! To make him doubt himself.

"I can smell a lot of blood!" The blonde muttered, a small crease between his eyebrows.

'Smell?!' That truly stopped James in his place.

"What do you mean "smell"?" Small inconsistencies on how the boy was standing, talking, acting started to jumble in his mind.

The boy jerked back from him, like he hadn't been aware that he was there.

James automatically reached forward to stop the escape, his hand wrapping around the thin bicep, his fingertips almost touching.

"What do you mean smelled?"

The uncertainty in their first meeting, the ill-fitting sunglasses, 'smelling', the way the kid reacted when James had come so close to him, like he hadn't seen him…

"What the-"

"Are you blind?"

No way. This couldn't be happening to him. How could this small kid be able to _smell_ the _blood_ on him! From across the hallway! That should be impossible, right?

"Yes, actually," the blonde snarled, answering the brunette's thoughts. "I can't see, so that's why I was asking _you_ if there was any blood around here. Now, would you let go of me?!"

James barely felt the tugging on his arm, his eyes still locked on his captive's face. James' hand automatically put the knife back in its place, James barely noticing as his thoughts continued to stumble over his neighbor.

The sunglasses were completely hiding the eyes from view. James couldn't tell if he was telling the truth. And if he wasn't, this boy would be in some serious trouble. So, unceremoniously, James reached out and yanked the dark shades away with a flick of his hand.

The blonde's eyes were blue. Like looking up into the sky, or the falling feathers of a bluebird. Just a marvel of blue that James found himself caught in.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing!?"

James pulled himself back into the present, his eyes focused on what he had meant to look for. The blue eyes that he had been admiring were glaring into a middle distance at his chest, a little low, but fairly close to where his face was. James stared at those pupils trying to decide if they were truly not seeing or just purposefully unfocused.

He slowly reached up towards the blonde's prominent chin, watching the eyes carefully to see if there was any flicker towards the movement. He waved his hand slowly before those flat eyes, looking for the focus that usually came from such rapid movement.

"Are you waving your hand in front of my face?"

James froze in his motions, seeing the completely unimpressed look on the other man.

"…No," he lied quickly, his chest dipping into a new emotion that he hadn't felt for a long, long time.

The blonde scoffed before mulishly sticking his hand out. "Now that you've stared long enough, can I have my glasses back?"

The new feeling deepened as James released the blonde's arm. This was guilt right? The dip of his stomach, the way his heart felt like it would drop through his chest from the new weight, the way his jaw tensed his mouth into a grimace.

'When was the last time I felt like this?' James wondered as he gave back the shades, his mind wandering back trying to find the memory as he watched as the blonde carefully place the glasses back on.

"So, is there blood around here or something?" The blonde asked once again, surprising James for maybe the fiftieth time in those ten minutes.

"Oh, uh, yeah," James mumbled, trying to think of some reason there would be blood. "I have a nosebleed." The wince that flashed over his face at the terrible lie made James curse himself.

"Do you need some tissues?"

James looked up in shock at the question. He had just threatened this kid, insulted him, and yet he would still ask if James needed something. James barely choked out the "no" between the uncomfortable tightness in his chest.

"…Okay. If you're fine without them," the blonde replied, sounding just as hesitant as James felt.

James just stared at his counterpart in silence, unsure if there was anything he could really do now. He tried to come up with something, anything really, to keep the strange boy talking to him. To help alleviate the weird pressure that was sinking into his chest, but he could only watch as the blonde carefully walked away, unsteadily bumping into the stairway door. James was thinking this would be the last moment James would see him when the blonde turned back, face set in determination.

"I'm Steve Rogers, by the way. It was… nice to meet you."

James just stared back, reeling in shock at the absolute insanity that was this kid. He was still standing there in awe when he saw the boy turn away, a look of dejection on his face, to open the doorway to the stairs.

He wanted the blonde to look back at him, to pay him just a little more attention. He said the first thing that came to mind. "I'm Bucky."

And that was another shock. He hadn't been Bucky for years. He had always been James, or in moments of pressure, the Winter Soldier. But Bucky was something of a far past. Bucky was boyhood and dancing. Bucky was his naivety of the world and it's dangers. Bucky was before his "change".

Bucky stood there in the hallway, unsure how to proceed with this moment. Eventually the silence seemed to be too heavy for the smaller man and he carefully turned around to the door.

"It was nice to meet you, Bucky."

It was the last thing Steve said before disappearing through the opening, leaving Bucky alone with the silence.

* * *

The Winter Soldier will shape the century…

James Buchanan Barnes (aka The Winter Soldier)

MO: Current kill count- unknown. Victims range through all ages, genders, and races and bodies have been found in State parks throughout the East Coast. All victims have been linked to crimes that have gone unpunished. All victims are found with a pile of evidence linking them to the crime. These crimes range from embezzlement to rape to blackmail. All killed with a 5 mm serrated stainless steel blade. Suspect has been spiraling in the past 3 weeks, killing more frequently and inflicting more wounds upon his victims. Last victim was Heinrich Zemo, stabbed 48 times in the chest. Zemo has been linked to corporate espionage against businesses in the United States. The FBI has taken over the case and have begun to think that Suspect is in the New York area.

Due to his upbringing, Bucky has a very black and white view of the world. His parents were charged with crimes and sent to jail, and the people who adopted him reinforced that it was the right thing to happen. He joined the Seals at 17, which gave him another family as well as strong military training. However, he was Other Than Honorably Discharged for disagreeing with an officer's orders during a combat situation. The discharge was inappropriate, but he lost connection to his military family because of it. At home, he was invited to join an unsanctioned group who helped the police fight criminals outside the legal system. It gave him a new family, as well as taught him police procedure and the idea that the police can not protect everyone. However, James discovered that the group was only eliminating opponents for people who paid them(a mercenary group for the political elite). In the same breath, James found out that his adoptive parents had committed blackmail to achieve their standing in the political realm. Losing all of his social group and with a strong disillusionment towards the police, James psyche broke and he turned into a vigilante serial killer, thinking that he was protecting society.

Some of you might think that this version of a serial killer is too disorganized for a Navy Seal who grew up with a very structured environment and who has yet to be caught by the police. And when I thought about it later, I was almost convinced I made him too aggressive. However, I think that the Winter Soldier isn't disorganized, he's just rage-filled. He is very patient about collecting evidence and stalking who he thinks is a danger to society, but when he moves in to kill, he becomes frenzied. After the kill, James returns to a more focused mind set, knowing what to erase or move to avoid detection by the police.

Some of you might also point out that Bucky is a marksman, and that he would probably shoot his victims instead of physically assault them. I thought about that later as well, but I just really am drawn to the more out of control Winter Soldier. Guns are just so restrained, and I don't think that it quite captures the rage that the Winter Soldier always seems to feel. And as seen in CA-WS Bucky is very good with a knife.

Next will be the Odinson Brothers... Another pair of Serial Killers how exciting.


	3. The Odinson Brothers

Steve strolled towards the stairs, swinging his cane from side to side with practiced ease.

The cane had seemed unnecessary at first, but now it had become an extension of his arm. It was like an extra sense, becoming a cord detector and stair finder. This white stick had saved his life plenty of times. It also helped stop any uncomfortable situations from arising.

Steve had thought that it would be too embarrassing letting everyone who saw him know that he had a disability. But he began to see the benefits of it when he asked where the bread was and the grocery employee growled out "It's right in front of your face."

When holding the white cane, that situation never happened. Though he did get his share of strangers coming up to talk to him. Those were never easy to handle.

Steve breezed his way across the hallway, feeling much more comfortable with the space after he had been living there for a year. It had been hard at first, especially the first month, but now it was almost normal.

Steve would go to work at the Shield office, help Coulson, get lunch, get groceries, and come home. And it was a home, not just a place to sleep. The whole building felt like a refuge from the world. He had met all of the renters by now, and had created some great relationships.

Natasha and Clint were still the amazing couple they always were. They were happy to have Steve over for dinner at least once a month. They acted almost like older siblings. Always curious about what he was doing with his life, and how work was going. Natasha had jokingly told Steve that if he ever had any trouble to just call her and she would make the problem "disappear".

Steve smiled at the thought as he opened the stairway door and moved out onto the landing. At first, Steve had thought he would never be able to stand Bucky, but the man had changed after their first meeting. He was a lot… calmer.

It had surprised Steve the second time he had talked to Bucky. For one, the other man started up the conversation, and secondly he had apologized for his earlier behavior. It had still been an awkward conversation, full of pauses and long drawn out silences, but by the end of it Steve realized that this man had just been in a bad mood when Steve had first met him.

Bucky had slowly warmed up to Steve. Heck, they hung out almost every day after work. Usually, Steve would insist on staying in his room, since Bucky's place smelled like something died and was burned. But the time the two spent together was fun. They would listen to music, talk about other tenants, Bucky had even tried to teach Steve to dance. Bucky was probably Steve's biggest support and closest friend.

Sometimes, Steve thought about what an odd pair the two of them were. Steve was some small, blind, young adult who wasn't really interested in anything but what was going on in his life right at that moment. Bucky, on the other hand, was very politically active. He always regaled Steve with the problems that were facing the world, mostly social justice. Steve was always impressed with how focused Bucky could be on issues. Like just a few months ago, Bucky had been furious about a string of sexual assaults that had been going on in the area. Steve was worried about it too, of course, but he never felt like he could do anything about it. Bucky always sounded like he was on the edge of committing bloody murder.

Steve carefully descended the stairs, using his cane at every step to make sure he had the depth correct. Steve thought that he had memorized the height, but he was always afraid to test his knowledge and run into a troublesome situation. So Steve continued in his slow manner, also keeping an ear out for anyone running up the steps.

As cliché as it sounded, it happened to Steve a lot. Everyone in his building seemed to like running up the stairs as quickly as they could, rounding corners without looking ahead of themselves. Steve had already been bowled over 3 times so far. The staircase was also where he would run into people he wouldn't often see or meet. He had talked to Bucky a few times on the stairs, listening to his deep scratchy voice as he returned home from work. But, on occasion, he had also met Natasha's neighbors on the stairs. The Odinson brothers.

Steve didn't like the Odinson brothers. Well, he should say that he didn't like _one_ of the Odinson brothers. But since the two went around as an inseparable pair, Steve had eventually decided to avoid both of them. They were an odd couple, from a country that Steve never heard of. Their accent and grasp on English turned their conversations into a Shakespearian mockery. But that is where their similarities ended. Their personalities were strikingly different.

Thor was rather nice even if he was apparently 6 feet 5 inches and more muscular than an ox. Thor had a great personality, a sense of humor and a booming laugh that Steve could feel in his bones. However, his younger brother, Loki, was another case altogether.

Ah, Loki. The young man never had anything nice to say about anyone; neither Steve, as he tries to make it in his new world, nor even his brother, who seemed like the only person who would deal with Loki's attitude. Loki didn't care about anyone, putting himself far above anyone he met with a scornful voice and a few choice words.

Steve always wondered why Thor listened to whatever the snake said, going so far as to defend him when dealing with the other renters. But there was a limit to the gentle giant's poise. Steve had only heard them fight once. It was the same day Thor and Bucky had almost come to blows. That had been one of the most stressful situations that Steve had ever been a part of. What was even worse was that he felt he missed a large portion of the tension. He had heard the words and the tones, but at the end of the shouting, Steve still couldn't make out why there was a fight in the first place.

* * *

Steve had been wandering down the stairs one day, going out to grab some groceries when he heard that sly voice hiss through the air.

"Oh, look, it's the blind one. Did you forget to count the steps again? 2. 17. 27. 34. 5. 6," Loki goaded from the second landing.

"Loki," Thor whined out, "leave Friend Rogers alone."

Steve rolled his eyes as he continued down the steps. He had realized what type of person Loki was the moment they met. For the most part, Steve tried to ignore the younger man as much as he could. Steve hated bullies, but he also knew when he was outmatched.

"You get so passionate about this one, brother," Loki sneered. "Why is he so important?"

Steve paused in his descent, surprised by the tone in Loki's voice. Usually, Steve could only hear derision or ridicule when Loki spoke, but this time he heard a bitter resentment. It reminded Steve of jealousy.

"It is not just this one, brother. You drive off every person we meet with your harsh words," Thor complained. "Why can you not just… act cordial, in the least?"

"Cordial. With who? Those pathetic people?" Loki huffed out. "They are not worth my time. Acting "cordial" with them is the same as patting a dog on the head."

Steve sighed at Loki's description of people. It showed how used to Loki he was since his jaw didn't drop to the floor. Such slurs were common occurrence around the younger man.

Steve turned to continue down the stairs when a large hand settled on his shoulder. Steve barely felt the urge to scream this time. At first it was weird when the people of these apartments moved without Steve hearing them, but by now he had gotten used to people randomly touching him on the shoulder or head without hearing them move any closer to him. Clint did it all the time.

The only person who never came near Steve without his knowing was Bucky. He was probably the loudest person in the apartment complex, his boots always clomping steadily along the hallway.

"Forgive him, Friend Rogers, he doesn't know what he says," Thor murmured, his deep voice resonating through Steve's body.

The large hand squeezed in reassurance, and Steve was once again shocked by how large Thor was. His hand spanned across his entire scapula, fingers almost reaching his spine while the thumb covered Steve's shoulder. Steve could only imagine what the rest of Thor looked like. With Loki always standing around, Steve never felt like he could ask the giant.

Steve tilted his head up, shooting a smile in Thor's general direction. "It's okay, Thor. I think I'm starting to understand."

"What do you mean by that?" Loki's cold voice snapped.

Steve looked over to where Loki was, somewhere to Thor's right, and tried to school his face. "Nothing. Just that I'm starting to understand everyone's personalities." Steve moved to leave hoping he hadn't just incurred Loki's wrath.

But he was too late. Something tangled with his foot, ripping him off balance and sending him falling down the next flight of stairs. Steve could only flail in terror and feel his stomach flip as he plummeted towards pain.

His shirt was yanked backwards, catching him in the middle of his fall and pulling him back from the brink. A bar crossed over his stomach, pulling his whole body back against a muscled wall. His shirt was released and a second arm barred against his chest pulling him even more securely against Thor behind him.

Steve barely caught his breath to thank the other man when he was spun around, hands holding him tightly in place.

"Are you alright, Friend Rogers?" Thor asked, sounding panicked. Steve opened his mouth to reply, but wasn't able to say anything as Thor overran him, his soft voice turning hard and angry. "Loki, that was unforgivable. You could have killed the boy."

Steve wondered if that wasn't Loki's aim in the first place.

"It matters not, brother," Loki responded, as calm and snooty as ever. "He'll kill himself if given-"

"There is no excuse!" Thor interrupted, shocking Steve in his abruptness and heated voice. "Rogers has done nothing to you, Brother. I am finished with your cruel ways."

Silence descended on the landing. Steve could only hear Thor's heavy breathing and could only guess at the expressions on either of the men's faces.

Really, Steve should have just stood there in that silence, but it was so uncomfortable that he couldn't help but speak out.

"Thor, it's fine. I'm not hurt, anyway. No harm, no foul," Steve tried to move his arms to show how fine he was, but Thor's incredible grip kept his elbows cemented to his sides.

"See, even the child sees that I did nothing wrong," Loki jeered. Steve winced at the dark undertone beneath the scorn. "So just push the boy down the stairs and let's leave. I'm bored."

"Is something wrong?" A smooth deep baritone came from behind Steve.

The air crackled at the challenge in that voice, and Steve automatically turned towards Bucky.

He had never heard that tone of voice before! It was so dark, filled with an emptiness that chilled Steve from the inside out. There was no lilt to the voice, no undercurrent of energy, it almost didn't sound like Bucky.

But though Steve twisted, Thor didn't seem to notice, even pulling the smaller blonde closer towards his large body.

"Oh, if it isn't the unimaginative one," Loki sneered, sounding confident and jeering once again. "Coming back from your slaughterhouse?"

"I asked, is something wrong," Bucky repeated, slowing down his words so that each one was like an angry bullet.

"Everything's fine," Steve answered quickly. "I was just about to go shopping when I tripped down the stairs. Thor helped me."

An unpleasant pause slipped through the air before Loki continued. "As the blind one said, my brother was just stopping him from taking a tumble down the stairs."

A small growl came from Bucky, but other than that, there was only the heavy clomp of Bucky's boots as he moved up the stairs.

"If that's all that happened," the sarcasm was thick in its placement over 'all', "then how about you release him… Thor."

"I am not sure that is my wisest action at the moment," Thor's measured voice responded. The thick arms tightened around Steve's back.

"Thor, it's fine," Steve tried to placate the giant.

Bucky suddenly growled out, "If you don't release him immediately…"

Steve stumbled forward as Thor backed up. It was starting to confuse Steve how the situation could get so messy. Thor and Bucky seemed so worried even though neither of them had done anything wrong!

"Just give him the child, Thor," Loki growled out. "He only wants the bo-"

The continued nasty commentary was suddenly cut off with a small gasp and a whisper of movement.

Thor's hands slowly tightened around Steve's arms starting to become painful. Steve tried not to let out a gasp of pain or let any of the emotion register on his face. He wasn't sure what would happen if Bucky saw anything wrong, and, frankly, Steve just wanted to go downstairs and get his groceries.

"You are making an reprehensible error," Loki yelped out "If you harm me now there is no way that my brother will give you the boy. Why are you even caring so much? What is this one boy compared to the thousands of humanity that you save every day?"

Steve stifled a gasp. Was Bucky trying to hurt Loki? Why would he do that?

"This isn't like you, Thor," Bucky muttered, "He isn't your type."

Type? What on earth does that mean? Steve mentally shouted, his mind automatically jumping to more… explicit… meanings of type. It wasn't like the thought of Thor being gay was a problem, just shockingly off-topic. And the strike that he might not be Thor's type was slightly depressing. Was it because of his newfound inability that he wasn't Thor's type? Was it because he was short and skinny and looked like a skeleton with skin?

Actually, that was beside the point. Right now the rising tension in the air forced Steve into motion.

"Wait! Let's all just take a breath!" Steve shouted out, once again trying to turn, but once more being stopped by Thor's unmovable grip. "Bucky! I'm sure we can talk this through, so let's just stop… whatever you're doing. Let's just talk it out, okay?"

"Bucky?" Loki hissed out, his voice still higher pitched from stress, "Who the hell is…"

The abrupt silence chilled Steve once again, but at least this time it didn't sound like Loki had been cut off mid-speech, just that he decided to stop talking. Though that was still worrying, since Loki's mouth didn't seem to have an off-switch when it came to ridicule.

Steve felt Thor shift against him, his hands roaming up from mid arm to around his shoulders.

"Don't." Thor's deep voice rumble out into the silence.

Steve turned his head to the right, his ears straining as he tried to decipher what was going on. But it was unnecessary really. There was a loud swish of fabric and Steve was flying backwards.

There was a clang of metal before hands snatched at Steve's coat, yanking him backwards into the nothing. They swung him around, slamming him forcefully into a broad pillar. No cross that out, a strong chest.

Steve reached out, feeling a coarse vest under his left hand, which he grabbed onto with all his might. He wasn't sure what was going on at the moment, only that he had been moved and he now had no idea where he was. He wasn't sure how close to the stairway he was or where the wall was. He was in the middle of nothing holding onto Bucky.

"Buck-" Steve squeaked out.

The body he was pressed into froze.

"Steve, are you okay?" Buck grumbled. His voice vibrated through Steve's hand.

Steve nodded at first, but as the situation sank in, the nodding slowly shifted into a shake. "Just… stop. Everything's fine, so just stop."

"If you take another step, you will face the power of Odin," Thor's voice reverberated off the walls of the stairwell.

Steve could feel the huff of breath leave Bucky's chest, but instead of some scathing remark, Bucky only replied, "I got what I wanted. Now I'm leaving. I suggest you do the same, if you want to find your astronomer, or whatever."

"Astrophysicist," Loki remarked, his breath still coming out in huffs.

"Like I care," Bucky hissed, before spinning around, disorienting Steve even further. It was even worse when Bucky took a step forward, pushing Steve back into space.

Steve clung to Bucky's vest, curling forward. "Wa-wait! What are you doing? Where are we?" Steve exclaimed, hoping Bucky wouldn't move even more.

"Be careful, _Bucky_. You wouldn't want to kill your little lamb there _too_ quickly," Loki jeered out from the darkness.

Steve could feel the slow straightening of Bucky's spine.

"Bucky, don't!" Steve pleaded, unsure if he could deal with another disorienting fight, or if Bucky would even be able to beat the huge Thor.

The moment stretched into eternity as Bucky stood completely still, his body twisted to the left as he contemplated what he would do next. Steve kept his hands latched onto the man before him, hoping that somehow it would dissuade his friend from moving.

Finally, Bucky's body twisted back, grabbing a hold of either side of Steve's arms. "I'm going to turn you around now." He warned before doing just that. Even with the prior warning Steve squawked as he was turned on his toes.

"You dropped your walking stick before," Bucky continued, taking a step to Steve side, one hand wrapping around his lower back, and the other grabbing hold of his lower arm. "It looks like it fell all the way to the bottom floor. I'll help you down."

The forceful push from Bucky had Steve stepping out into darkness. He wasn't sure when his foot would hit the next step, and with Bucky pushing him to hurry, Steve lowered his foot too quickly. When his foot hit the floor Steve fell off balance, but thanks to Bucky's supporting arm he didn't fall to the ground.

Bucky stopped, probably noticing how uncoordinated Steve was. It was annoying how pathetic Steve felt. The entire situation before, Steve had been helpless. And now he seemed like an invalid, unable to do anything without Bucky's help.

His face was starting to burn with embarrassment at the fact that he couldn't even make it down the stairs by himself. And even with help he looked like a total idiot!

Steve was getting ready to take the next stair when an arm swooped under his legs and hoisted him into the air. He couldn't make a sound at the sudden change of position since his breath seemed to decide to leave him completely. All he could do in the situation was twist and curl towards the person who was now holding him off the ground. He reached out to grab onto Bucky's vest again.

"Sorry. I should have warned you," Bucky's low voice shivered through Steve's chest. "I just thought it would be easier for you if we went this way." Bucky began making his way down the staircase seeming to not be bothered by Steve's extra weight.

Steve clutched a little harder, trying to get his breath back so that he could say something. He wasn't sure if he would be yelling or reassuring.

In the end, he couldn't say anything, yet another stunning example on how pitiful he was. Steve stayed silent as they continued their descent, hearing the clang of the second floor door slamming closed. It was disturbing to Steve how Loki didn't make a parting shot, but in a way he was glad he didn't have to verbally defend himself at the moment.

They made it to the ground floor quickly, and he was gently set back on his feet. He stood there uneasily as Bucky slipped away from him, only to feel his cane being pressed back into his hand moments later.

"Where are you headed?" Bucky asked casually, his voice having regained its inner energy.

"Groceries," Steve replied curtly, still uncertain if he wanted to forgive the man for picking him up, and all the other stuff that he had done on the stairs.

"Can I come with?"

Steve paused in straightening himself out, hearing a hopeful uplift in the voice that reminded Steve of puppies. Should he allow the other man to come with him? It wasn't like he needed to have company, and plus he was still angry about what had happened earlier. But…

"Sure, but you have to carry the milk," Steve muttered out, feeling his cheeks begin to heat and hoping beyond all hope that the blush that he thought was spreading across his neck was not as red as it felt.

There was a soft chuckle before the bottom landing's door was opened. Steve tried not to roll his eyes as he wandered toward the noise, instead beginning the long conversation about "how the day was" and asking generic questions about weather and work.

They were walking out the door when a "clunk" surprised Steve. Bucky's boots began to thump against the cement sidewalks, startling the blonde with their sudden appearance.

But they shouldn't surprise him! Bucky was always loud when he walked around Steve, always a heavy presence that made Steve feel like he could see again. But now it felt like the noise came out of nowhere…

Steve shook his head at his own confusion. He probably wasn't paying attention. That was why the noise had surprised him.

There could be no other answer.

* * *

James staggered into the apartment building feeling like his head was going to explode. It was a tiring, grueling, exhausting day and all James wanted to do now was go to his floor of the apartment building and see if Steve was in at the moment.

Just the thought of seeing that small and scrappy little blonde eased the tension from his shoulders. He had started to make it a habit of seeing the young man everyday after work. After talking to Steve, Bucky always felt like he could continue to wipe the bad from the world. There was a reason for his purges.

James grinned as he stealthily moved through the corridor to get to the staircase. James slipped into the stairwell and started to climb to his floor when he heard that beautiful husky voice.

"Thor, it's fine. I'm not hurt, anyway. No harm, no foul."

James froze on the steps, looking up through the bottom of the slatted staircase to see the large feet of their resident giant, Thor. Next to them was a much smaller pair that James assumed was Steve. But, what were they talking about? Why would Steve be hurt?

"See," A second voice cut in, putting James on edge.

Loki.

That was a vile snake if ever James had seen one. The man cut with words and almost anything the brunette said made James angry. Ever since they met, the Winter Soldier had wanted to tear the prissy boy to pieces. But his brother made that an impossible task. Thor guarded Loki more carefully than a mob boss detail and even with his knives James was unsure that he would be able to put a scratch on the lithe brunette.

"Even the child sees that I did nothing wrong. Just push the boy down the stairs-"

James brain didn't pick up anything after that sentence. Loki was thinking of hurting Steve.

That was… unpleasant.

James turned the corner on the stairs, looking up at the three men on the second landing.

Loki's slight frame was leaning up against the door jam. His long hair fell around his porcelain face, his cold green eyes fixed on his brother. Thor was standing facing James with Steve in his hands.

Steve was so small in comparison to Thor. His body was held tightly between those giant cable-like arms. Thor's long hair was pulled away from his square shaped face, and he was looking down at Steve in anger.

That was… undesirable.

"Is something wrong?" James wasn't sure how his face looked, but his hands were starting to ball into fists.

Steve twisted in Thor's grip, as if to get away from the large blonde man, but instead of releasing his captive, Thor pulled the smaller blonde closer towards him.

That was… unacceptable.

"Oh, if it isn't the unimaginative one," Loki sneered. "Coming back from your slaughterhouse?" Thor stayed silent his eyes focused on the Winter Soldier's face.

James ignored the petty jibe. "I asked, is something wrong." He took a step up the staircase towards the three men, his eyes flickering from Loki to Thor and then to Steve.

"Everything's fine. I was just about to go shopping when I tripped down the stairs." Steve's voice sounded so breathy. Why was it so breathy? "Thor helped me."

James doubted that the taller blond had actually helped. Steve sounded troubled. And the way that Loki and Thor had glanced at each other after Steve's explanation seemed to be shocked at what the blonde said. Which meant that Thor did something to upset Steve, and Thor and Loki had done something purposefully.

James took another step up the staircase. Thor's eyes narrowed as Loki shifted uncomfortably towards his larger and stronger counterpart.

"As the blind one said, my brother was just stopping him from taking a tumble down the stairs." Loki said condescendingly.

James pulled back his upper lip and let a small growl rumble through his chest. It was rewarding to see Loki gulp at the sound. But the glint in Thor's blue eyes made James' stomach curl in doubt.

"If that's all that happened, then how about you release him, _Thor_."

A fight was coming, the Winter Soldier was sure of it. Watching how Thor had started to size him up as he ascended the stairs, watching how the giant reacted when he had physically intimidated his brother, even now how the softer blue of Thor's eyes had changed into a storm cloud grey let James know what was probably going to happen next.

"I am not sure that is my wisest action at the moment."

James hand came back to rest on the knife under his jacket. Thor pulled Steve back towards him like a shield, eyes never leaving James' own.

"Thor, it's fine." Steve's voice jarred the Soldier, reminding him to be discreet.

The Winter Soldier took another step up the stairs. "If you don't release him immediately…" He left the threat hanging, sure that Thor wasn't so stupid that he would miss the implications.

Thor took a small step back at the advance of the brunette.

"Just give him the child, Thor," Loki snarled, turning to glare at his brother. And that was his first mistake.

The Winter Soldier lunged up the stairs, reaching forward to grab onto the front collar of the smaller Odin brother. The knife hovered over the pale throat as the Winter Soldier pulled the man close. But the Soldier kept his eyes on the giant, who was undoubtedly the bigger threat.

And yet the larger man did not react like James was expecting him to. When the Soldier grabbed his hostage, Thor's only reaction was a tensing of his jaw.

"You are making an reprehensible error," Loki yelped out, his hands coming up on instinct. "If you harm me now-"

James ignored the continued blathering, watching Thor closely for any small fault that he could exploit. The blonde was careful though, keeping his victim close to his chest with his hands on the outside of the smaller blondes' arm. If James attacked now Thor would still be able to defend without getting blocked by his own hostage.

Which was much different from the situation the Winter Soldier was in. Loki was standing still now, but James had seen their hunting style before. Thor might be the larger, stronger, and more eye-catching brother, but that didn't mean that Loki couldn't fight. While the prey was distracted Loki could slip in and deal some lethal damage with his small daggers. If the Winter Soldier wasn't careful while he was dealing with the larger brother, the smaller one could come up to cut his throat.

In other words, the Winter Soldier would have to handle this carefully, probably with diplomacy.

He wasn't very good at that.

"This isn't like you, Thor," James started off, watching and listening to any movement. "He isn't your… type."

Yes, their _type._

The Tarot Killers had such a specific type. A beautiful woman who was high in the academic elite. They usually had published journals about astronomy recently, and they were always found with their eyes gouged out. They also tended to be dressed and placed into the position of the tarot card they were always holding. It was all very contrived, but at least it narrowed down their victims to a small few. And Steve fit none of those characteristics, thank god.

If there was even a thought that anyone in this building would harm Steve…

"Wait! Let's all just take a breath!" Steve shouted out. "Bucky! I'm sure we can talk this through, so let's just stop… whatever you're doing. Let's just talk it out, okay?"

The yell brought James back to the present in the most remarkable fashion. The use of that name had more stopping force than a Taser. It reminded him exactly why James couldn't lose Steve. The boy was too important now.

"Bucky?" A soft voice asked. Bucky felt like cold water trickled down his spine and into his lungs at the quiet use of his nickname.

James slowly turned his gaze to his captive, watching clouded and confused blue eyes, furrow in thought. "Who the hell is…?"

He wasn't even aware he had applied more pressure until he saw the bright red blood slip past his knife-edge. He could only watch, as if in slow motion, as those blue eyes focused on him in shock and realization, the mouth hanging open on the last word spoken.

He stared back into blue as it focused and crystallized, turning darker as the eyes narrowed and took on a look of calculation. This could only mean trouble.

A bark of "Don't." came from his right.

He turned to see Thor with his hands resting around Steve shoulders, inches from the boy's neck.

It was that brief moment of inattention that allowed Loki to land the quick jab against the left side of his rib cage. The hit was so quick and sharp that James barely had time to balance himself before the blue eyed man was jolting backwards out of his hands.

James was about to lunge forward to regain his advantage, but that was when Thor burst into movement. He threw Steve across the stair landing, twisting to reach towards his brother.

Loki or Steve… the answer was rather simple.

Bucky automatically dropped his knife, his now free hand reaching out to drag the blonde into the circle of his arms. It felt right to hold the small man against his chest. It felt right to feel those small hands fist into the fabric of his shirt. It felt right to have the blonde hair brush against his cheek as he leaned forward to protect the man with every inch of his body.

James had never felt such a certainty of rightness in his world as when he was standing there holding onto Steve. It was better than that time he killed Senator Peirce. He felt more at peace than those brief times as a child when he was with his mother.

A soft whisper of "Buck," against his collar that anchored him to the present once more, forcing James to focus on the now.

James stared over at the two men across the landing. Thor was standing protectively in front of his brother, though the smaller of the two was peeking out from behind, his eyes analyzing as he took in every aspect of James and Steve's interactions.

But on a more important note. "Steve, are you okay?"

With his eyes locked onto the Tarot Killers, James could only feel the brush of Steve's hair against his chin and neck as the boy moved his head. "Just… stop. Everything's fine, so just stop."

"If you take another step, you will face the power of Odin," Thor added.

Odin, huh? What a fucking joke.

"I got what I wanted," James snipped. "Now I'm leaving. I suggest you do the same, if you want to find your astronomer, or whatever."

"Astrophysicist."

James sent the younger brother a scowl. "Like I care."

With the parting shot said, James twisted around, ready to leave the deranged duo to their own devices. But a sharp gasp and resulting squeak forced the Winter Soldier from leaving as brusquely as he had hoped.

"Wa-wait! What are you doing? Where are we?" Steve whined out, his knuckles turning white as he gripped onto James

"Be careful, _Bucky_. You wouldn't want to kill your little lamb there _too_ quickly."

James wasn't sure if it was the use of his nickname or the suggestion that James would eventually kill Steve that enraged him; whichever, the Winter Soldier stirred once again, turning to glare at the prick that continued to cower behind his brother.

He barely registered the soft "Bucky, don't!" that breathed against his vest.

Not like he was going to attack the two. He had Steve to take care of and he needed an element of surprise to take the large Thor down. No, he would have to deal with them later.

With a plan forming in his mind, James twisted back to the task at hand. "I'm going to turn you around now." He warned before doing just that.

The blonde yelped as he was spun around, and James could just make the noise of a small scoff behind them.

James shot Loki a glare as he stepped to Steve's right side, realizing that he couldn't do anything to shut the brunette up.

James urged the blonde farther away from the pair who had not moved from the landing. Their continued presence was beginning to become annoying. "You dropped your walking stick before. It looks like it fell all the way to the bottom floor. I'll help you down."

It was only after he heard the sharp inhalation of breath and felt the younger man wobble in his hands that James realized that he should have taken the stairs a little slower.

Another chuckle from behind them made James grit his teeth. How could he help his friend without making this even more painful? It was obvious that going down the steps like this would be a slow process for the both of them, and with how red Steve's face was getting, James could bet that the boy just wanted all of this to be over. So what way would be best?

It took only a moment to think of an alternative. Without a second thought, James reached down and swept the shorter man into his arms, tightening his grip around the boys shoulders and knees so that there was no way for the young man to slip.

It was only after the action, and the subsequent gasp, that James realized he should have warned his friend beforehand.

"Sorry. I should have warned you," Bucky muttered, feeling sheepish "I just thought it would be easier for you if we went this way."

Steve, surprisingly, didn't answer, instead staying quiet as he turned his head into Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky descended the stairs quickly, trying not to notice how his companion was curled in his arms or how little the man weighed. Or how wisps of the blond hair, curled against his cheek.

Bucky tried not to notice his companion.

They made it to the ground floor quickly, and after making sure Steve was standing comfortably, James moved to grab the walking stick nearby, picking up his fallen knife on the way.

"Where are you headed?" Bucky wondered.

The single word response of "Groceries," was slightly off-putting.

But Bucky wanted to spend more time with the blonde. He had been waiting all day to see the boy, and now was a possible moment when they would part again.

"Can I come with?" James had barely stopped the words from coming out as begging.

"Sure, but you have to carry the milk," Steve quipped back.

Bucky chuckled at the joke, moving to open the door for his friend, and slowly making their way out into the corridor.

An easy conversation about the days they had and any subject that didn't relate to the staircase flowed between them. It eased the tension in James' shoulders that the blonde could be so carefree after such a terrible thing happened.

But it was only when they reached the door to the street that James was finally able to relax, knowing that they were leaving the apartment complex, and all who inhabited it, behind.

* * *

Loki and Thor Odinson (aka Tarot Killers)

MO: Current kill count:6. All beautiful women of varying ages. All part of the academic elite, the first being a Professor at Oslo and the last being a 20-something American astrophysicist. They are found laid out like the picture on the Tarot card they are holding. Liters of blood have been drained from their bodies and are found on a small shrine to a Nordic God named Odin. It is probable that there is more than one serial killer due to the complexity of the scene and the speed at which it is created. It is notable that none of these woman have any signs of sexual assault. Previous murders have been found throughout Europe, but recently the international serial killers have come to the United States. The FBI is currently scouring passengers of plane flights that came between the window of the last murder in Europe and the first murder in the United States.

Thor and Loki are a more common type of serial killer partners. Loki is the ruthless and brilliant Alpha personality, while Thor tends to be the more submissive, if larger, partner. However, their "religion" creates some interesting changes to their dynamic. Loki created this cult when he was a child, and then impressed the importance of it upon his brother. It has a deity, Odin, for whom they must sacrifice a being to show their conviction to the faith. The death is ritualized, and had started out with small animals before morphing into human counterpoints. Of the two of them, Thor believes more strongly in these cult ideas. He feels it is necessary to bring sacrifices to Odin, and believes that it is because of this deity that the pair has not been caught by the police.

Loki's belief in Odin is much harder to pin down. He is very much a charismatic cult leader. He is not overt in his beliefs, and though he reinforces his brothers actions and faith, he might be doing so to keep stronger control of his brother rather than soothe an angry god. Loki's larger motive in killing people is the destruction of beautiful and brilliant women. Many of the women that were chosen to be sacrificed were women that Thor had either focused on or complimented earlier in the hunt. However, it is unclear if that was the reason Loki chose them was because of Thor, or if Thor simply brought attention to women who were deemed "worthy" of the honor to be sacrificed.


	4. Anthony Stark

Sorry this is so late at night. I almost forgot...

* * *

Steve pushed the door to the ground level open, being careful to know exactly where his walking stick was so it wouldn't get shut in the door again.

He entered the lobby area, his cane tapping against the marble floor. It was so quiet in here. This place never seemed to have a peaceful moment so hearing the silence was rather eerie.

Steve stepped out further into the hall, his head twisting to the left towards the seating area. There was a few chairs and sofas in there that the apartment owner, Tony Stark, liked to use. Bruce Banner, another apartment resident, also liked to relax out here on the main lobby floor. But now, Steve could hear no one shifting around, or even breathing in the small space.

Next Steve turned his head towards his right, his ears straining for any noise that Tony was wandering around in his office or standing around at the "concierge" table. Otherwise known as, the place Steve dropped off his rent money every month. But again, there was no sound other than Steve careful maneuvering over marble.

Steve frowned and made a soft noise at the back of his throat, like a hum and a "humph" mixed together. It was mostly to reassure Steve that his ears hadn't decided to suddenly stop working and that he still could hear the environment around him.

Steve walked over to the chest high counter. "Tony?"

Silence returned to the lobby area.

Steve frowned. Today was the day he was supposed to be receiving his $100 "return" money. He had been counting on getting it today so that he could walk to the bank and put it into savings before he decided to spend it on something stupid like music or another braille book. The small bookstore that he shopped at only had a few of them every now and again, and they tended to be more expensive.

Steve called out again, hoping that the owner would magically show up, like the man was prone to do. But it didn't look like Steve was going to be having that luck today.

Steve felt that small hesitation he always got when he thought about the cash he was supposed to receive. Tony had randomly started giving it to him about six months after he started living here. Even now, looking back, the reason for the money was... vague, at best.

* * *

Steve was walking out to eat at a local café for lunch when he heard a throat clear behind him. It was obnoxiously loud and extremely drawn out, so Steve knew exactly whom he was going to deal with next.

"Hey mouse-boy!" Tony Stark, the owner and fellow resident of the apartment complex, shouted out. "Where are you popping off to today? Still working at that advertisement company? You know I didn't lie when I said I would take you on as a secretary. Who wouldn't want a cutie like you?"

"As charming as ever," Steve muttered under his breath as he turned around to face the approaching voice. Louder, he said, "Mr. Stark, what can I do for you?"

"Mister Stark." Tony repeated "Oh how I love you calling me that. Makes me feel important. But in all seriousness, call me Tony. Easier on the tongue. As for what you could do for me, well, you could do a lot of things for me. Except my taxes. Or maybe moving my couches. I would have to ask Thor or someone to help me with something like that. But then there's his brother…"

Steve mentally counted to ten as the owner continued to blather on. The man didn't seem to have an off-switch. When he reached fifteen he decided that he probably wasted enough time.

"Well, if that's everything…" Steve took a step backward to signal that he was leaving the conversation. Or one sided monologue, whatever you wanted to call it.

"Oh, oh, wait. I actually did need to talk to you about your rent for the next few months."

Steve stopped in his retreat. "Is something wrong?"

"What? Oh, nothing wrong per se, just maybe some things we need to sort out."

By now the man was about 5 feet in front of Steve. Steve made sure to keep a careful estimation of how close Stark was to him. Of everyone in the apartment, Tony was the worst about sudden physical contact. It was like Tony needed to have a hand on whoever he was dealing with at any given moment. It was at about this distance that Tony would inevitably touch Steve. Whether on his arm, or his back, or one very annoying time on his head. At first, Steve had tried to make a point of showing that the contact made him uncomfortable, but by now he was kind of use to it.

"What needs to be sorted out?" Steve questioned further.

"Well, you see," There was the hand on the shoulder. It slowly started to push him towards the left and towards the office room that Tony sometimes worked out of. "I recently became interested in this new… business. I had wanted to start running it full time. But I ran into some money issues. At first I thought I could easily by-pass these "issues", but it has been brought to my attention that it would be illegal."

"Illegal!"

"Yeah, pesky IRS codes and such." Tony continued. "So, I realized that in order to make my business work I needed to work in a different direction. So I am changing your rent."

Steve shrugged the hand off and turned towards Tony. "You're telling me that because you wanted to start some crazy, new business venture that you are upping my rent! That breaks the renter's agreement-"

"Woah, Woah, Woah!" Tony interrupted loudly. "And when did I say I was increasing your rent? I remember saying that I was changing your rent."

Steve took in this new information. "You're… lowering my rent?"

"Yep!" The hand was back on his shoulder, now easing him into the office room door. "I need to lower your rent by a hundred bucks." The hand now shoved Steve towards a chair in the center of the room. After stumbling a bit, Steve's fingers found the edges of the leather seat. "I was thinking of changing your renter's agreement, but I thought, 'That would be a big waste of time' so instead, I wanted to just pay you back the $100 every month." The drawers of the desk in the room rattled as Mr. Stark pawed through them. "Now I remember I put it somewhere, but I can't quite remember where it is."

"Wait, wait, wait. I don't get it." Steve interrupted… whatever Tony was trying to do at the moment. "Why would you lower my rent? It doesn't make sense for you to pay me money if you are having financial issues with your new business!"

"Ah, well there were some issues with paying my employees and making all the money even out with my tax returns. It's a lot of technical legal stuff. Nothing you have to worry about. Everything I'm doing now is perfectly within the laws. Well, at least 25% within the laws. Can you do that? Be a percentage within a law? Or is it like a line? Like you're on one side or the other? It would be much easier for V if there was a percentage of the law. He would probably be within 25% of it. But then Hugo Weaving wouldn't get the recognition he deserves."

Steve rolled his eyes at Tony's chatter. It cost too much emotional energy to react to these talks. Steve had realized quickly that getting anxious about every little thing Tony said was too much. Tony was going to do whatever he wanted anyways, it was better to sift through the chatter to what you could actually do about it.

"So you're going to pay me back $100? Every month?" Steve clarified.

"Yep!" Tony chirped, another drawer rattling open. "Every month you get a surprise present for being a good tenant. Or not so good tenant. Doesn't matter. Just come by the desk and I'll give it to you, and you can spend it on whatever you like! A haircut, nice shoes, more giant baggy jackets that look terribly unflattering. You know I do know a tailor who could make you some very nice coats. She's great with adjustments and is in charge of my entire wardrobe. Great woman. I could give you her number-"

Steve held up a hand, trying to stop the flow of words. "Wait, you're gonna pay me back every month? Why don't you just lower the payment on my rent?"

"That's boring!" Tony exclaimed, "And there's all this legal stuff if you are trying to change renter agreements, so it would just make sense if I called this a monetary gift."

"I pay you, $1650 a month, and then you pay me back $100 in cash?" Steve asked, before Tony could get distracted.

"Exactly."

"Why don't I just give you $1550?" Steve asked annoyed. "It would decrease the amount of transactions we have."

"But then I wouldn't get to look at these 100 dollar bills!" Tony cried out. "You know they really do have Benjamin Franklin on them? He looks exactly like a long haired Anthony Hopkins. Same disapproving frown and side eye. Of course Benjamin Franklin never scared a young Jodie Foster. Though I guess she wasn't too young, since she wasn't some prostitute. Did you know that Jodie Foster and Alexandra Hedison have recently gone to London. They are quite the sight together. I always like Jodie Foster. Great actress. "

"So, you're gonna give me $100 right?" Steve interrupted whatever Tony had moved to talk about next.

"Huh? Oh, yeah . 100 bucks, right up front." The shifting noise of paper filled the office again as Tony searched his desk. "And… here it is! Of course I would leave it under the Avengers folder."

Steve stood up, holding his hand out in front of him. He might as well make Tony do all the work. "Avengers?" he asked, half interested.

"Huh?"

"You said Avengers file. What's that?" Steve expanded.

"I did? I said that? No, I didn't. You must have misheard." Tony muttered. "Well, here is your money." A single bill was placed in Steve's upturned hand. He could feel the cotton and the way it was soft in the middle but still crisp on the edges. It was also at this point that he realized that he wouldn't be able to tell what type of bill it was. But that was less interesting than the…

"You said Avengers," Steve repeated. "I know I heard it. What is it?"

"You have a real eye for detail, you know that?" Tony chuckled at his own joke while Steve rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses.

Tony had avoided the question and he was starting to sound a little defensive. He even went so far as to insult Steve's blindness. Did Steve hit a nerve when he asked? What was it about "Avengers" that made Tony nervous?

"What is the Avengers?" Steve asked bluntly, not allowing any room for Tony to sneak away from this topic.

For the first time since Steve had met him, Tony stayed quiet. It actually worried Steve. He thought he might have actually angered the easy-going apartment owner, something he had never heard happen before. Steve was thinking of apologizing and letting the whole thing go, when Tony took a breath.

"It's just a group I'm trying to set up. I know a few people with similar interests and I thought it would be nice if we could all work together on… things."

Steve tilted his head at the answer. Why was Tony so nervous about something like that?

"Do you guys do illegal things?"

"Oh, you know, the usual, murder, mayhem and madness!"

Steve sighed, the tension rolling out of him. He should have known Tony wouldn't give him a straight answer. "Right."

"Oh, before you leave, how are you getting on at the apartments? Having any trouble with the other tenants?"

Steve thought about Loki and Thor, wondering if he should say anything about what happened between them and Bucky. 'But it worked itself out in the end,' Steve thought, before shaking his head. "No, nothing has been bothering me."

Tony was silent for a second, before he asked, "What about the Russian?"

"Who, Natasha?"

"No, no. The other Russian, your neighbor. You know, dark hair, lots of black, broody. Though I guess the only thing that would help you is the broody part."

Steve frowned. "Bucky's great."

"Bucky? I thought his name was James. He better not have forged his ID."

Steve sighed. "His name's James, but he asked me to call him Bucky. He's really helped me settle into my room. He's a great friend."

Tony scoffed. "Friend, huh? Guess that wouldn't be the word I would use, but I don't like glowering towers of muscle." Steve opened his mouth to comment, but Tony continued. "Look, just know that if anything happens, you can come and talk to me about it. If you don't like whatever you and comrade are doing, I can help out. Kosher?"

Steve blinked at the offer, realizing that Tony was looking out for his safety. It was an oddly touching sentiment, even though Steve didn't need it. Bucky wouldn't hurt Steve. "I'll keep it in mind," Steve compromised.

"Good."

A silence covered the space following the heartfelt feelings. A small cough from Tony pushed Steve into saying something to end the awkwardness.

"Well, you should have fun with your little club. I have to get goin'. I want to grab some groceries on the way home and I don't want to be out late when I'm carrying bags."

Steve stood and turned towards the door, trying to be careful not to bump his leg into the leather chair. He worked his way over to the door, finding the knob on his first try, and opening it slowly.

"Oh, Steve." Tony's voice stopped him, "Please be careful on your way, I don't want to lose a little blind mouse."

Steve let out a huff. Of course the man couldn't leave things well enough alone. He stepped out into the hall, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

A group of like minded people called the Avengers. After that one moment Steve never heard of this group again. But that didn't stop Steve from wondering about them. Tony never spoke about them, and nothing changed in the world of the apartment, just that every month Steve got a $100, like clockwork. Maybe Tony just made the story up so that he could give Steve money, or something.

Steve didn't understand why Tony felt like he still needed to pay Steve money, but Steve decided to just let the situation slide. When he first arrived here he would have never been so lax about something like this. He had been too proud about doing things on his own and not allowing anyone to pity him for what he could no longer do. He would have thought that Tony was just handing out money to him because he was blind and the job he worked at, though fun and filled with a group of great people, was not the most well-paying job.

But by the second month of dealing with Tony Stark, Steve had realized that the man was anything but delicate. The man never saw his disability as anything more than something he could poke fun of. The man basically lived on insulting everyone around him.

At first, Steve could barely stand the man. He was having a hard enough time adapting to his new world without someone shoving his face into his problems after every sentence. It took Steve a very long time to realize that these insults meant more than face value affronts.

As Steve interacted with Tony more and more, he realized that, for Tony, if you couldn't handle the extreme amounts of sarcasm and mockery that came your way, than you weren't worthy of being a friend. And by now, that's what the two of them had become. Steve liked listening to Tony's way of talking. It was always so fast and so energetic.

The man was still weird, there was no mistaking that. He had this strange obsession with pop idols, talking about them for days on end; about their jobs, their families, what they were wearing, anything about them really. And he never stuck to a genre, like music or acting. If you were famous, Tony Stark knew about you.

The man also seemed to go into long bouts of "hermitage". He would stay in his room for days- almost made it to a week, once- and then come out tired, hungry and cranky.

And he always smelled of gunpowder, fire, and smoke. Steve had mentioned it to the man once, not really minding the smell, but wondering where it came from. Tony had laughed for five minutes straight before clapping Steve on the back and calling him "amazing". Then the man started wearing heavy cologne and using intense smelling soap. But Steve could still smell the underlying burning scent. Of course Steve didn't tell Tony. It must have been really embarrassing to be told that you smell by someone, and Steve didn't want the older man to feel embarrassed.

But despite all of his oddities, Tony treated Steve like he treated everyone else. It was nice to feel that people weren't walking on eggshells around him all the time.

Steve shoved back from the counter, turning towards the exit. It was apparent that Tony wasn't here right now. Maybe he was stuck in his room doing… whatever he did.

Steve marched towards the open-air. He would just have to collect his money when he got home.

* * *

Tony Stark (aka Iron Man)

MO: 6 victims, all ages, races, and genders. All victims were famous celebrities who recently fell from popular opinion due to personal comments or situations. All victims had a piece of mail delivered to the doorstep of their vacation homes, perhaps to show a sense of insider knowledge. The bombs are home made, with a specific concoction of flammable and combustible material that is specific to the Iron Man attacks. All but one bomb have been non-lethal, only leading to scarring or burns. The single lethal bomb was the fourth and had an added component of bullets and iron nails. It was first thought to be an escalation, but the following bombs showed it to be an outlier.

Tony Stark loves to have attention. He gets it in the most... inconvenient way. The assault on other famous people. He tends to target those that he feels have abused their popularity. He keeps a detailed account of all of his victims, taking out news clippings of them before and after his "present". He especially loves written pieces about himself, "the Iron Man". He has a flare for the dramatic as well as a love for the explosive. He is obsessive about the people he watches as well as his craft. He has a science based mind, and is rather comfortable in the presence of larger "predators" such as the serial kidnapper "the Hulk".


	5. Sam Wilson

Sorry I forgot to post yesterday. Hopefully I'll be more on top of it next week.

* * *

As soon as sunlight hit Steve's face, a voice called from the left.

"Well, if it isn't the Blues Brother himself."

Steve grinned and turned towards Sam Wilson as the soft shoes approached him. It was a day just like today when he had run into this man while walking to work one day. They had hit it off rather well.

* * *

Steve had stepped out into the heat. He turned his head to the sunlight, letting it brush against his neck. He took a slow breath of the city air.

It had been a great morning so far. No broken cups or plates, no burnt fingers or tongues from too hot coffee. He had been able to find the a pair of shoes in record speed, and even was able to lace them without starting the whole process from the beginning. The sun was out, the smoggy city air smelled amazing, and Steve was taking a walk to get some groceries for the week. Steve smiled for the first time in a very long time.

He turned towards the grocery store, taking two confident steps into his great day when he felt a solid impact jar against his right side, sending him stumbling.

'Of course it couldn't last...' Steve thought to himself as the toe of his boot tripped him up even more, sending him towards the ground.

A hand gripped his upper bicep, stopping Steve from completely falling to his knees.

"Sorry, man. I didn't see you there," A melodic voice started. It's constant emphasis on the last word gave the entire way of talking a roll to it that Steve had never heard before. It was nice to listen to.

"Uh, no, I wasn't looking where I was-" Steve stopped himself from continuing on, realizing what he just said.

Yeah. This wonderful day… it was going downhill awfully fast.

"Going?" The other man supplied for Steve.

Steve gave a smile, though it played more like a wince. "Something like that. Well, I apologize for bumping into you. If you'll excuse me…" Steve took a step to be on his way when a hand landed heavily on his shoulder.

"Wait." Steve felt his body be pulled to turn towards the other man, as a small step brought the two approximately face to face. "I can't just let it go like that. I nearly shoved you over!"

The brief agitation of being touched and turned around without his permission faded as Steve listened to the way the voice fluttered through different tones. Its high pitch caught Steve's attention. Right now it sounded almost whiny.

"Look, man. Let me make it up to you," Now the earnest lowered voice pulled Steve in, like he was hearing a secret. "I wouldn't want a cutie like you feeling angry with me later on because I was too distracted by your face to move out of the way."

The compliment was said so matter-of-factly that it almost passed Steve by without him noticing. Steve felt his jaw drop as his brain took a moment to process. This guy was flirting with _him_? But why? And how? And… what was going on!?

"…Uh…" Steve was too shocked to find anything to say.

"Whoops. I can't believe that slipped out of my mouth," A soft laugh covered up the awkward pause that slipped into the conversation. "Sometimes I can't help but say what's on my mind. I hope that didn't bother you."

"Oh," Steve still didn't know what to say, "Uh…no? It's fine, I mean… "

"Oh, good!" The relief that was in that voice made Steve happy that he responded so simply. "Hey, let me take you out to lunch, to make up for everything. I just feel so bad about what I did, getting distracted and knocking into you, I could have knocked you over so easily!"

"I couldn't make you do that," Steve muttered still feeling off kilter. Steve didn't want the other man to feel bad about running into Steve, but at the same time, Steve wasn't sure if he could handle going out to lunch with this guy.

"How about coffee? I know this great little place…"

And that was how Steve found himself sitting in a quiet little store, smelling fresh ground coffee all around him and hearing the scratch of pens, the clicks of keyboards, and the soft mutter of surrounding conversations.

The exchange flowed easily. Whenever Steve felt like he couldn't think of anything to say, the other man, who introduced himself as Sam, would pick the conversation up without missing a beat. Sam talked about his likes and dislikes, his job, his family, some amazingly hilarious random stories that he had about people he knew, and anything under the sun. The conversation never seemed awkward. Except one question. It happened fairly soon after the pair sat down at the table, and it was thankfully over very quickly.

"So, why do you wear the glasses, Blues Brother?" the cheery voice probed.

Steve froze, his whole body tensed up. Usually he would deflect, but so far Sam had seemed really calm about everything Steve had thrown at him. "Uh… well, I'm blind… actually." Steve winced at how frank and awkward he sounded. Could he not make it through a conversation without making things uncomfortable?

"Oh! Really? You're…" Steve thought about taking his sunglasses off to show the other man, but that might just make the situation worse. "Ah… That's why the white cane. I see." Sam continued, sounding like he was slowly piecing everything together. "Wait, you mean, I didn't just run into a cute blondie, but a _blind,_ cute blondie! Oh god!"

Steve couldn't help but grin at the dramatic reaction.

"And you just decided to go to coffee with me? You don't even know what I look like!" And now Sam started to sound worried.

"You seemed like a good person," Steve reasoned back, smiling over in Sam's direction. "I felt like I could trust you."

A silence fell over the table, and Steve's smile slipped a little at the unexpected reaction. So far Sam had handled anything Steve said with ease. Could Sam not take a compliment very well? Steve was about to speak up, apologize or something, when Sam thanked Steve with a laugh and a pat on the shoulder.

The conversation moved on quickly and lasted for an hour. Apparently, Sam was an Orioles' fan, instead of a Dodgers', and Steve quickly came up with a run of bird names to call him. Sam laughed at all of them, but seemed partial to "Falcon".

When Steve had shyly asked Sam for a description of himself, the man had been too happy to accept, remarking that it was usually his looks that "got him the ladies".

Steve didn't doubt that the about 6' black man with a "nice smile" and a runner's body didn't attract people's attention, but Steve felt that it was probably Sam's friendly personality and strange ability to strike up a conversation with anyone that did the real magic. Sam flirted with everyone he talked to, but not in a creepy fashion but more in a complimentary way. He also had a way of keeping a conversation going, and always interested in what the other party was saying. Sam's looks might have girls talking to him, but it was what they were talking _about_ that kept those girls around.

Or guys. Steve wasn't able to forget that tidbit with how Sam kept flirting with him.

Sam tagged along with Steve to the grocery store, keeping their easy banter through the walk. This type of friendship was something Steve had never had before. Steve was talking candidly with a stranger, but he felt like he knew him for years.

Sam even followed Steve back to his apartment, helping him carry the bags up the stairs to his room. The man was a saint! Always kind, and always helpful.

Steve was working his key into the door, Sam chatting about movies he'd seen, when Bucky's door opened. Steve turned his head in his friend's direction, a smile filling out his face as Steve thought how great it would be to introduce him to Sam.

"Buck!" Steve called out excitedly. He didn't notice when Sam suddenly stopped talking.

"Steve," Bucky's baritone had a slight rasp to the end of it, like the man had just woken up.

"What are you doing in today? You usually have work around this time. "

There was an odd pause before Bucky replied. "I don't have work today."

Another strange pause spread out between the group as Steve waited for Bucky to continue. When Steve realized that was the end, he tried to salvage the situation. "Oh. Well, that's… good."

The high and excited feeling that Steve had while talking to Sam was starting to fade at Bucky's curt responses. And frankly, Steve didn't want that to happen. He hadn't felt this calm with a stranger for a long time. It reminded him of how he was before the accident.

"Uh… this is Sam!" Steve jumped onto a new topic, hoping that Sam's amazing conversational skills would help salvage whatever problem Steve had created. "We ran into each other out in front. Quite literally." Steve chuckled at the joke, but found himself laughing alone. Even Sam wasn't joining in. The laughter died in the suffocating silence.

Steve squirmed in the stillness feeling an uncomfortable prickle slide along his neck. What the heck was wrong with these two? Sam had been talkative just seconds ago and Bucky had a tendency to ramble when he was together with Steve.

Just when Steve was thinking of doing something drastic, Bucky finally began to move.

An arm slung over his shoulder, and around his neck, pulling Steve close to the other man. "It's nice to meet you."

It might have been a brief statement, but Steve felt like he could finally breathe now that everyone wasn't standing in the hallway staring at each other.

"Likewise, man," Sam replied, his voice light. "Well I better start getting going, Steve, I have work to get to."

Steve felt himself deflate. "Oh. Sorry, I must have taken up all of your time-"

"Nah, man," Sam interrupted what was the start of a long apology, "I had fun helping you with your groceries and things."

Steve let a look of skepticism cross his face to show how much he believed _that_ lie.

"I'll see you... around," Sam stuttered out, the sound of his footprints fading as he moved towards the staircase.

Steve gave a wave in Sam's direction, hearing the stairwell door open and close after that.

"It's a shame he couldn't stay." Steve commented to Bucky, "he was a really nice guy."

"He seemed weird," Bucky remarked brusquely. His arm tightened around Steve's shoulders.

"Really? I didn't think so at all. He's a great talker, and he even helped me with my groceries!" Steve pointed out, moving to open his apartment.

Bucky grunted back, grabbing a bag from Steve's hand and walking into the apartment.

"You don't think that's odd? A stranger helping you carry food to the room where you live alone?"

Steve shrugged. "We had coffee before he decided to help me. He was probably feeling bad about running into me outside."

There was a thud of food hitting the counter. "I don't think you should talk to him again."

Steve rolled his eyes at Bucky's melodramatic response.

* * *

Steve frowned at the memory.

Bucky and Sam were still at odds with each other. Bucky would verbally shut down whenever he met Sam, and Sam would quickly come up with some excuse to leave whenever he saw Bucky. Not that they met very often. After the first time they met, Sam had never gone up to Steve's room again. Sometimes they would get coffee or lunch together, but their interaction always ended at the door to the apartment building.

But Steve was still hoping that the two would get over their differences (whatever they were) and become friends. It wasn't like the two weren't interested in each other. Sam would always ask where Bucky was, or when Bucky would be back from work. Bucky had basically interrogated Steve about Sam after their first meeting. Bucky had asked about where Sam worked, where he lived, his family, and even what he did for fun! Steve just couldn't understand why they were so silent when they actually saw each other.

"Hey. What's with the frown? You not happy to hear my voice?" Sam asked, rousing Steve from his contemplation.

Steve shot his friend a smile, "Sorry, I was just… overwhelmed by all the noises," he lied.

"Well, be careful on your walk to work, don't need you getting distracted and wandering into a street or something," Sam joked, a hand tousling Steve's hair.

Steve scoffed at the action, but redirected his thoughts before they could have an argument. "You not walking with me today?"

"Nah, man. I have some work to catch up on. I'm actually in a bit of a hurry."

Steve suppressed a sigh and, instead, mustered up a smile. The morning walk was going to be a boring one. "I'll talk to you later, then."

"See you around!" Sam's voice started to fade as the man walked away.

Steve turned around and started his lonely trek to work. It wasn't all bad. There was a great smell of roses and mint gum in the air. Steve's forced smile became more real as he wandered down the block.

* * *

Okay, so it's not like Sam is stupid. The man could easily tell that Steve was blind. So why would he not bring attention to such a large part of Steve's appearance? He was building report first. It made the conversation about Steve's loss of sight much easier when Steve felt more connected to Sam and more comfortable in Sam's presence.

Sam Wilson (not currently under investigations for his crimes)

(sorry for any discomfort felt while reading this description)

He's a sexual predator. Very smooth talking, handsome, and a little narcissistic, but you think you are in for a good deal. Until you get home alone. I mean, he's handsome and most people like him, so why shouldn't you be happy to have sex with him? He'll talk you around to it eventually. All a girl needs is a persistent man. And really, you were totally asking for it. If you continue to refuse his advances, his attitude will quickly change too much more menacing actions. He won't kill his prey, but consent doesn't really matter for him, especially when the person he's with is in a situation where they can't really refuse him. Afterwards, he'll disappear from your life. And with the little information you know about him, prosecution is near impossible, especially when he leaves the city and then state that you lived in. And then he'll find another person to flirt with.

I couldn't find a way to show that in this short, but I hope that you could get that "creepy" feeling from him at their first meeting and how he just follows Steve home. And readers, please realize that if you are in a situation as described in the paragraph above, it does not make the pursuers actions right. You should choose when you want to have sex, and you don't owe the person flirting with you (or even dating) anything.


	6. Bruce Banner

Steve stopped at the next intersection, his walking stick comfortably hanging from his hand. He barely had to concentrate to hear the "wait" of the crosswalk, its automated voice starting to grate on Steve's nerves with its voice cutting through the ambient city noise every five seconds.

Steve shook his head before stepping out onto the street at the sound of the crosswalk's beeping. He had seven more streets before he reached Hilton Street. Shield was the fourth door to his right. He had taken this route so many times he felt like he could avoid every uneven stone on his way.

But Steve not paying attention to his surroundings was what caused Steve's current major ailment in the first place. Now with one of his senses gone, not noticing his surroundings would be even more dangerous.

That was why he was playing this game with himself. Steve would try to pinpoint all the sounds and smells around him as he walked down the street, hoping that he would slowly be able to make a better mental map. There wasn't much else for the blond to do anyway. And his therapist had mentioned how this was now Steve's way of "smelling the roses", and that he should "delight in his other senses".

When he was first given this idea he hadn't wanted to try it at all. Trying to guess what was around him was frustrating. He wasn't used to focusing on his smell or his hearing, and he almost always got it wrong.

But then he had run into Bruce Banner when he was going outside for one of his daily walks. Bruce Banner was a fairly secretive man. He rarely talked to anyone, and Steve almost never ran into him. Steve had thought the only way he could meet Bruce was through Tony. Those two had a close connection that Steve couldn't really understand. It was the epitome of 'opposites attract', Tony being the brash and chatty landlord and Bruce tending to be a quiet, passive tenant.

But when Steve was heading out to the park he heard Bruce's quiet voice behind him. At first, Steve thought this would be a quick bit of small talk that was rather meaningless, but before he knew it he had invited the older man out for a stroll.

There had just been something very sad about Bruce, like he was working through something difficult. When Steve heard that sound in his voice, he wanted to fix it as best as he could.

And that's how he found himself on a bench practicing what he didn't want to do.

* * *

"So what can you smell now?" Bruce asked, the heat of his leg was slowly sinking through Steve's pants.

Steve breathed in, feeling stupid. "Uh, I don't…"

"Steve," came the warning voice, "You have to at least try."

Steve sighed, before taking a slow inhalation through his nose. "Ugh. There's a burning smell to the air, like what you would smell in hospitals."

"Oh, sorry that might be me," Bruce confessed. "I like to be clean before I go on walks."

Steve gave a reassuring smile. Everyone had their quirks. "Um… I smell something that makes me hungry. It's kinda metallic? But sweet." Silence descends as Steve tries to think through what that smell could possibly be. "It also has a smoky smell," Steve mumbled, trying to imagine what it could be.

Steve wracks his mind a few more times before sighing. "I don't know, what is it?"

Bruce seems to twist in his seat. "It has salt on it."

"Salt?" Steve thinks of all the foods that have salt on them. But also sweet. And are burning? Well, they are in a park, what could be burning in a park? "Could it be… kettle corn?"

"Yep! There's a stall of kettle corn across from us." Bruce's hand pats Steve's shoulder. "How was that? Was it easier than before?"

Steve grimaced. It really was getting easier. "It's still difficult."

Bruce chuckled at the annoyed grumblings. "All you needed was to practice. Push yourself just a little farther than you usually go."

Steve slouched into the bench. "You seem to be enjoying this…"

"Well, I like to research how far someone can be pushed. Where their limit is, how much they can adapt." Steve could hear the smile in Bruce's voice. "Humans have an amazing ability for adaption. They can survive almost anything. Take away their sight and their other senses flourish. Take away food and the body will consume the muscles they don't need. Numb their minds, and they become used to the sensation. People are interesting that way." There was a beat as both men thought about that amazing ability for change. "You know, you have a great ability to adapt. It's like you have no darkness in you."

"Darkness?" Steve inquired, surprised at the turn in conversation.

There was a noncommittal hum.

They sat in silence as Steve wondered if he was really that "pure". He thought about how dark his thoughts had turned after the accident, how he sometimes felt completely powerless and hopeless. Steve couldn't help but scoff. "Everyone has darkness in them."

"You don't," Bruce murmured. "Darkness is not inherent, it's cultivated. It needs horrible situations to meet people who cannot deal with them. Darkness comes from time, pressure, and hopelessness. It warps people slowly." Steve felt Bruce shift to look at him. "You have dealt with your situation. You adapt as best you can. With each change you make you avoid being tainted by darkness. You don't get frustrated."

"I get frustrated. I hate how I am. I hate how I can't do what I used to do. I loved to paint, and now I can't even see shapes. I'm just like everyone else. I have darkness in me," Steve argued.

"Hardly. Some would strike out, calling the world unjust. Some would give up and die. You, you are special. You're very resilient. Though you get frustrated it's never with the world around you, it's always with how _you_ can't cope with the world. You rarely talk about how life is unfair, or about how you wished this happened to someone else, you just try to do something that will better your situation. You are… an inspiration."

* * *

The idea that he was special stuck with Steve for a very long time. It helped him move on, focus on how he could cope, made him stronger. Whenever Steve felt like he would collapse, he would just think about what Bruce thought of him, and how he had to live up to those expectations.

So though he didn't like it, Steve pushed himself to learn where things were based on scent and hearing and touch.

For example, Steve felt the pavement become pebbled under his feet and stopped at the next crosswalk. Steve shifted his weight and turned his head, trying to see if he could sense anything else around him. Someone had a terrible cold on his far right. Someone was wearing a large coat that kept moving in the light breeze. And to his left was the smell of spearmint.

Steve was finally told to walk. And continued his way up past a bank who had a definitive smell of money, and some store whose use of perfume always bothered Steve's nose.

Finally, he reached a point where he could clear the sugary smell from his nose, and could focus on the people around him again. Someone behind him was impatiently tapping their shoe, and there was a dog barking in the distance. To his left was the light scent of hotdogs and coffee, and to his right was a strong smell of spearmint gum.

…

That was rather surprising. Usually, Steve walked too slowly to keep pace with the

people around him. Or maybe it was someone else? Steve took a slow breath, hoping people didn't hear him inhaling like a weirdo.

But no, the spearmint was the same brand, and there was an underlying smell of axe body-spray that Steve was pretty sure he had smelled at the last intersection. Perhaps it was a coincidence?

Steve reached the next intersection and noted that no, it was not a coincidence. He had intentionally slowed down as he walked the last block, making sure that he was paying careful attention to the mint guy who was walking near him. The guy seemed to meander near Steve, not moving too far ahead of the smaller man. And now here they were, and mint, axe and leather jacket was standing on his right again.

Steve was wondering if he should initiate some conversation, when a hand touched his shoulder.

"Uh, sorry to bother you," an apologetic baritone started from his right, "but I think I'm lost. Do you know how to get to 11th avenue?"

Steve started at the sudden contact and soft question. "Uh, well, uh, sorry, I-I don't know," He stuttered out as he turned towards the man.

"I see," the man who smelled like mint sighed out heavily. "It's just I'm supposed to meet a friend there, but I got completely lost. And then I realized that I didn't have my phone on me. Can you believe that?"

Steve gave a faint smile to his left. "That must be difficult." He put out there, unsure if he was saying the right thing.

"Heh, yeah. Hey, you don't happen to have a phone that I could borrow, do you?" The guy asked, his voice practically radiating hope.

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry I don't have a phone," Steve muttered out, starting to feel slightly mortified. First, he couldn't help this guy find 11th avenue, and now he can't even let him borrow his phone.

"Shit," the mint man hissed out. "They'll think I stood them up. Damn it."

Steve grimaced at the situation. But there was nothing he could do. He really didn't own a phone and he wasn't sure about the street system outside of a couple blocks radius. This poor guy!

"Oh, wait," Steve remembered. "Actually, I might have a map at the place I work!" Coulson had dropped the thing off a month ago, trying to encourage Steve to get out and explore more of the city. "If you're not in a rush, you can come with me and I can give it to you! And if that doesn't help, you could use one of our phones at the office!"

"What? Are you sure? I wouldn't want to intrude," The guy responded, sounding uncertain.

"It's absolutely fine. I work at an advertising firm. They're fine with people coming in and out. My work is one block down from here. We should be able to get there pretty quickly."

"Wow. Thanks that really helps me out." Mint's voice was smiling.

"It's not a problem," Steve grinned. He heard the beep of the crosswalk and began to cross the street. "Though I am surprised you asked me of all people." He laughed out, turning his head in the man's direction.

"What? Why is that?" Mint asked.

Steve gave a quirk of his lips at the response. "Not many people think that a blind person can give good directions."

"What! Your blind?"

Steve paused in his steps, facing the other man. "You didn't notice?" How could someone not notice something like that? First Sam and now this guy. What was with this city?

"Jeez, not at all! That was so stupid of me," Mint laughed out.

Steve gave a small grin. "Well I wouldn't say stupid." Steve turned to look forward, but something about the conversation was niggling at the back of his mind. How could this stranger _not_ notice that he was blind? The white stick usually was a huge hint.

"Hey, blind people are just like other people," the stranger replied easily. "Even if I did notice, I wouldn't think you couldn't help me out."

Steve smiled at the sentiment. It was nice to know someone didn't see his disability first and his person later.

The two continued down the street, Mint keeping up a steady stream of conversation. He talked about politics briefly, mentioning some politician who had been murdered by a serial killer, then he talked about a parade that was going on in a few months. Steve liked to listen to the chatter, feeling comfortable letting the man continue to talk. They arrived at SHIELD so much faster than Steve was expecting. Steve would have walked right past it if he hadn't smelled the hot dog stand that came right after the storefront.

Steve pulled on the door, but it only wiggled in place. "Huh, the office is locked." Steve reached into his pocket pulling out the key. "Usually Coulson is in before me. I guess he's running late."

"So no one's in here but you?" Mint asked, his voice relaxed.

Steve paused, as he fiddled with the lock, trying to open it. "Uh, well, I guess." He felt his heart start to flutter. That question was… odd. Steve was sure that it wasn't meant to be, but it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

The key finally slid home, and Steve turned the knob to enter the office. But he hesitated at the door again.

"Is everything alright?"

Steve shook his head, clearing the emotion. "Yeah, fine. Sorry. Here, come in."

Steve gave the door a push and entered the hallway. He tapped his way up the stairs and over to the right where his personal office was. The door was opened like always, making it much easier for Steve to enter the room. "The map is just in here. Give me a second."

Steve quickly crossed to his desk, feeling the top and sides to work his way around. He reached for the right hand drawer as he instinctually noted how his guest wandered into the room and to his right.

There was a knock of wood. "This your boss' office?" Mint probed.

Steve nodded as his hands shifted the papers in the drawer looking for the glossy feeling one. "This used to be his secretary's office, but he moved me into it so that he could make sure that I was coping with my job. Oh, here it is." Steve pulled out the folded paper. He held it out to his guest. "Here you go! I hope it's helpful."

Steve waited for the map to be pulled from his fingers, but instead the world seemed to pause.

Mint replied, "Hey, do you have a key to your boss' office? I've never been inside an advertisement building before."

Steve felt that uneasy feeling return, but now it was at the bottom of his stomach causing it to churn. "You should probably get to coffee shop now. You don't want to miss your date. Maybe you could return later?"

"Come on, just a peek. Just let me into the office." Mint cajoled.

Steve hesitated before he moved around his desk towards the stranger. "I think you should leave now."

"Kid." The soft easy tone was gone from the voice, and a shot of fear slid down Steve's spine. "Just open the door."

That was something Steve couldn't do. He pulled his shoulders back, puffing out his chest, and held his head high. "Leave now, I won't ask you again."

There was a small laugh. "You are way out of your league." The footsteps approached Steve.

There was the squeak of leather against leather, and Steve just knew that the man was pulling back for a punch. So, before it could be unleashed, Steve lunged forward swinging wildly.

Surprisingly the hit landed, glancing off flesh. There was a sharp curse before a hand was grabbing the back of his jacket, twisting and throwing the smaller boy across open space. Steve barely kept his feet under him as he slammed into the wall. But that didn't help him when Mint grabbed his collar.

The first knee that hit his stomach knocked the air from his lungs, making it impossible for him to yell out as the second knee hit him in the exact same spot. Steve staggered before a fist clocked against his right temple knocking him to the floor. Steve caught himself on his hands and knees.

"It's nothing personal."

Steve grit his teeth at the commentary, but ultimately ignored it. He was too busy getting his feet under him so that he could come up swinging.

Steve had always felt gangly when he fought. Being small he always had to throw all his weight around just to make a dent. Steve sometimes saw himself as a child defiantly wind-milling his arms about.

Now that he was blind, the movements were even shoddier. Steve had lost track of Mint after the hit to his head and so now he could only throw his arms out in desperation.

In return, a fist busted his lip, cracked against his ribs a few times and then finally, a foot sweeped him to the floor.

"Stay down, kid."

And Steve did.

It was one of the most shameful things Steve had ever done, but his head was spinning so much it was hard for him to roll over to stand up. Instead, Steve just laid there, the ground shifting to the twists and turns of his stomach, his head pounding in rhythm to his stuttering heartbeat.

Steve wasn't even sure that he was conscious. One moment he heard someone jiggling a doorknob, the next he heard the soft click of a safe door opening. It weaved in and out of Steve's mind.

Steve fought against the vertigo, of course. What else could he do? He forced his mind to the present, gripping onto it with his fingernails to pull himself back from darkness. But it took him time to slow the earth's motion and find his breath again. By then, the room had been quiet for half an hour.

* * *

Bruce was admittedly one of the hardest. He's one of my favorite characters, especially when Mark Ruffalo plays him. He's just so sweet and kind as Bruce, and then rougher but equally intelligent as the Hulk. So making him evil? Well, I tried my best.

Bruce Banner (aka. The Hulk)

MO: The Hulk is most well known for his poison attack on Las Cruces, New Mexico. The poison affected the entire downtown area, poisoning hundreds and killing 62. Most deaths that link back to The Hulk are missing persons cases who are found years later with signs of extreme torture and mutilation. The most obscene of these was a retired army general whose entire left side and lower half had been eaten away by acid. Suspect is believed to be a late 40s white male with a background in medicine or biological studies. Criminal Psychologists have classified him as a high functioning sociopath with no feelings of regret or empathy. The only evidence that is linking the current cases is the same drug has been found in all of the victims systems. It is a mix between a hallucinogen and a barbiturate. Though he is a prolific killer, he has a slow cycle, only taking around 4 people a year.

Bruce Banner grew up in a terrible, abusive environment. When he was around 12, he accidentally poisoned both of his parents and was put into the foster system. However, with his lack of emotional output and empathy, he was bounced around through many families, not all of them kind. He did, however, succeed in school, especially the sciences, where he received his only positive support from his teachers. He found a love in experimenting, which would later help him in his adult endeavors. He began to have an interest in humans and their adaptability after he was introduced to radiation studies in College. This interest turned into an obsession, and now Bruce likes to perform his tests on subjects who are more verbal than rats. As a serial killer, Bruce Banner tends to like to take his time finding the breaking points of his subjects. Whether that is emotional, physical or mental, all information is carefully recorded for future use and experimentation. His mild mannered personality covers his more ruthless, analytic nature as well as a roaring anger that surfaces whenever a subject does not respond to an experiment as was previously measured. To the Hulk, the only thing that matters is the science of it all.

And poor Steve... This man just has the worst people skills...


	7. In the Middle of a Hurricane

Chapter title from Hamilton the Musical.

* * *

Steve wasn't sure how long he stayed curled up on that floor, holding his stomach and trying to regulate his breathing again, but he was sure that it was too long. By now that asshole was long gone, and there was no way he would be getting his or the company's money back.

Steve grit his teeth in frustration, feeling the burn of tears in his useless eyes. He couldn't do anything! He could barely fight back and, even then, his attempts were pathetic! Why was he so hopeless?

Steve bit his bottom lip, forcing the tears back with sheer force. It was stupid just to lay here. He needed to get moving and do something about this.

Steve finally uncurled from his ball pressed up against the wall. He was careful about standing up, making sure that he had a firm footing before attempting. The last thing he needed right now was to fall over and hurt himself even more.

Steve took two steps hearing something crinkle by his feet. Carefully, he kneeled down to see what it was.

There were papers strewn across the floor. Directly to his right was a huge stack of them that must have been shoved from a desk. Steve carefully grabbed the stack, trying to organize them when he realized the futility of it all. He didn't know what the papers were about! How could he possibly make this any better?

The tears came back to the edges of his eyes.

He plucked at the papers uselessly, feeding them into a sort of pile, when he heard the front door open.

Steve froze in place, turning his head in the direction of the noise.

"Steve? Are you in here?" Coulson's voice reached the room. Steve listened carefully as Coulson slowly moved to his office. "I've been talking to Johnny Storm about the deal with FF Corp. and we were-" The voice cut off suddenly as it reached the door to the room.

Steve wondered what he must look like. His short blond hair was brushing against his nose and eyelashes, probably in disarray and hanging around his face. There was a dull ache in the side of his jaw and up to his temple, probably a black eye or at least a large bruise. His ribs ached from their previous abuse. His clothes were mussed from the brief fight that he had with "Mint". And here he was, sitting in the middle of a trashed room, his sunglasses thrown off somewhere, staring up at his boss in a pathetic mess.

"Steve! What-" There was a clatter of feet and then something was touching his shoulder. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Someone took the stuff in the safe," Steve replied, feeling drained and worthless.

"The safe? Someone stole the money in the safe? Did they attack you?" A hand came up, brushing the hair back from his eyes. A gasp let Steve know that the bruising really was that terrible. "Tell me everything."

So Steve began his retelling. He talked about how he met the guy on the street, how his naivety and gullibility had brought the man into the office, and how he wasn't able to stop them from robbing the company. He was proud that he was able to be so precise and objective about what happened. He didn't add any unnecessary emotions to any of his retelling.

Then he had to do it again, as a policeman listened to him and Coulson slowly cleaned up behind him. He could hear the scratching of the pencil as the officer took notes on the scene.

And then… he had to tell it again. As he stood in the police station, the yelling of disgruntled people shouted around him. He was being questioned over and over about information that he couldn't answer.

By the time he got home, he didn't want to say anything anymore. By now he realized that he couldn't describe his attacker other than "he smelled like mint" and "he had a beard". He could describe the man's condescending tone of voice in a paragraph, but he couldn't say if the guy was brunette or blond. He could describe the calluses on the man's palm, but not his ethnicity, or weight, or eye color, or anything that could possibly bring the man to justice. And he, as well as every police officer in that station, knew what would happen next.

Steve slipped into his apartment, finally feeling like that he could get away from Coulson's cloying attitude. The man had followed Steve all the way home, trying to make him feel safe. Instead, Steve felt claustrophobic. With Coulson watching him, Steve needed to look happy. He couldn't show any face except a calm, reassuring smile. It was draining.

But now Steve could let his face relax. He let his shoulders slouch forward, and his head bow under the pressure. He wandered over to his couch, sitting down and curling up.

It felt like Steve had stayed there for an hour, letting the aches in his ribs and face and head slowly sink into his body. But it was only 5 songs had played from his TV in the kitchen, so only 20 minutes had passed.

Steve finally got irritated with his self pity and stood up from the couch, realizing that he needed to put some ice on the bruising or it would get worse. He wandered into his kitchen and pulled the freezer cabinet open, letting the cold air rush out and cool his face. He should have quickly reached in and grabbed the ice pack to save on energy, but Steve just couldn't find the drive to do anything but shiver in the open doorway.

And that was how Steve was standing when Bucky entered his apartment.

"Steve, I came in," Bucky greeted, like he did everyday. "How's your day been going?"

Steve halted his automatic response to turn towards the voice. What would Bucky do if he saw Steve's face?

Pity most likely. The man would probably fuss over what happened, maybe lecture Steve about safety. This had been how everyone else handled the situation. And Steve could barely take Coulson's pity, he _didn't_ want to deal with Bucky's.

Steve just wanted the world to go away.

Steve made a break for his room, walking quickly towards it, and hoping that Bucky wouldn't notice the bruising.

"Hey, where are you going?" Bucky voice followed Steve along the hallway.

"I'm just feeling tired," Steve yelled over his shoulder, reaching out for his door. "I think I'm gonna take a nap."

Steve's hand bumped against the door, sliding downwards, looking for the knob. Of course, now of all times Steve couldn't even open his own goddamn door.

"It's a little higher and to your right," Bucky's voice came from directly behind him.

Steve moved his hand up at the instructions, feeling the weight drop even more heavily across his heart. He pulled the door open. He didn't want to deal with Bucky right now. He just wanted to lay down on his bed and forget today happened.

"What's wrong?" Bucky's asked, his voice softening.

Steve reached up to brush some hair back from his face. His hand stopped on his cheek, feeling the painful area. "It's nothing. I just want to go to sleep." Steve muttered, his voice sounding just as defeated as he felt.

"Steve?"

Steve sighed. That was unfair. When Bucky used that voice, the one that sounded like a kicked puppy, Steve couldn't help but react.

"Look, I just…"

Maybe he should just tell Bucky. He didn't want his best friend to feel like he was the reason for Steve's sudden silence. And Bucky had trusted Steve with his own problems before. Where would the trust be if Steve didn't return the favor? Steve could make it a few more minutes of talking if it meant his friendship.

Steve let out another sigh, pulling himself together for the 20 questions. Maybe afterwards they could sit on the couch and just listen to music together or something.

Steve turned around. The quick intake of breath was all he needed to know Bucky could see the bruise. It was probably the first time that Steve was happy that he couldn't see Bucky's face.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Steve started. "I was going to work-"

"What the fuck!" Steve started in surprise when a hand grabbed his bicep and another hand grabbed his neck, a thumb forcing his chin to the right.

Steve took it back. He really wanted to see what Bucky looked like right now. "Bucky! What the-"

"What happened? Who did this to you?" Bucky snapped.

Steve recoiled from the strong hands and voice "I was just about to tell you-"

"What happened?" Bucky barked his hands starting to tighten around Steve's arm and jaw.

"I got into a fight!" Steve snapped back, feeling uncomfortable and vulnerable in this position. "Look! Just let go-"

Bucky's hands immediately released him before a large clap and the sound of something giving way came from his left. A clatter of something crumbling followed.

"What the hell was that?" Steve yelped, moving away from the sound.

Another concussion came out, this time accompanied by the sound of wood against wood and glass shattering.

"Did you... Did you just hit my wall?" Steve gasped out.

The sound repeated again as Bucky screamed out in frustration.

"Holy –" Steve's shoulder bumped against the right side of the hallway.

There was a pause in the madness. A calm where all Steve could hear was Bucky's heavy breathing. And then came the storm.

"Unacceptable! This is fucking unacceptable!" Bucky yelled. "He was supposed to be safe! I made him safe! This can't be happening. This is impossible!" Bucky's voice fluctuated from loud to soft in equal measure and without warning.

"Bucky! Was that my wall? Did you just… break my wall?" Steve heard his voice crack and was shocked to realize that he was shaking as well. This wasn't the Bucky that he knew! This raging, screaming man was not his best friend. And it was so hard to tell what was happening around him. He just wanted someone to hold on to. "Bucky…"

There was another pause and Steve thought for a moment that Bucky would answer him. That Bucky would come back to him, from wherever he went.

But no.

"Who would do this?! Why did this happen? How could I allow this to happen?" Bucky's mumbled. "I was careful. I was going to protect him. He was safe! I made him safe! WHY ISN'T HE SAFE?" His voice rose to swamp out anything Steve could say.

Steve pressed his back farther into the drywall behind him as Bucky continued.

"What was it all for? I did the right thing! I got rid of those people! I sheltered him! I made it safe for him! Why!? Why!? Why did this happen? How could I… Why couldn't I…What…" There was a stutter in Bucky's voice, crack in his words. It ripped at something inside Steve, and Steve wished he could say something, but all of his words were gone. Steve wished he could move forward and grab hold of Bucky, but his legs wouldn't hold his weight.

From the front room there was the sound of a door hitting the wall.

"Steve?" The higher pitched voice of Natasha cut through Bucky's continuous moaning. "We heard something downstairs and we wanted to make sure you were… James, what are you doing?"

Steve wished he could do something, say something, but all he could do was keep his back pressed firmly against the wall to stop himself from toppling over.

"I did the right thing!" Bucky whined out, his voice saturated in desperation. "He should be fine! Why isn't he fine?"

"James, I need you to move." Natasha's calm voice cut through Bucky's questions.

"I just… I-"

"Clint," Natasha ordered quietly.

Bucky continued to mumble to himself as Natasha's calm, cool voice drifted over it all. "James, you need to calm down. You are scaring Steve. You don't want to do that, right? You want to protect Steve, right? You have to calm down. For Steve. Take a breath, nice and easy now."

A hand landed on Steve's shoulder. "Come on, Steve," Clint mumbled, pulling Steve away from his wall and towards his living room.

But the wall was the only thing keeping Steve's knees from giving out on him. The shock and emotions had completely worn him through. He collapsed to the floor, Clint's grip keeping his arm wrenched up.

Clint quickly kneeled next to him, bringing his arm to a more comfortable position. "We have to move to the living room," Clint informed Steve. "I'm going to help you stand up, okay?"

A hand slid around his back and chest, hooking snuggly under his arm. Slowly Clint levered Steve up, basically lifting him to his feet and carrying him out into the room. Steve was half-expecting to run into Bucky as they moved out into the living area, but nothing touched his shoulder or arm, and Natasha's soothing voice continued to flow from the right. Except she had seemed to decide to switch into a different language, her words now rolling with sharp endings.

Steve was lead to the couch, forced to sit down on the overly plush cushions. Callused fingers touched his chin, pushing the head up and to the left. "That's quite the shiner."

Steve was saved from saying anything when his door was thrown back once more, slamming against a wall.

"Stevie-boy, I have to serve you a noise complaint." Tony barged into Steve's apartment. "I wasn't expecting it from you, but… Hey, it's the crazy assassin duo. What are you doing here?"

Clint let out an exasperated sigh. "What are you doing here, Stark?"

"Watch how you speak to your boss. I can fire you, you know. Anyways, Loki called me to complain that there were some loud noises up here so I came to investigate. What's wrong with Sergeant Snow there?"

"Steve's been hurt," Natasha responded without any preamble, her voice just as steady as it ever was.

Tony's quick efficient steps clicked through the room and around the couch. Steve could tell when his super could see his face because the feet stopped rather abruptly.

"What happened?" Tony asked, his tone clipped and his sentences short. Two things that Steve had never thought he would hear from Stark, of all people.

The silence that descended on the room made Steve wonder if they made it passed the storm or if they had only reached the eye of it.

"I-I was going to give him a map," Steve confessed, feeling small and worn through. "He said he was lost, so I was going to give him a map." Steve kept his voice low, trying to hear how Bucky was taking the news.

"Who's 'he'?" Clint asked softly, matching Steve's voice.

"The Mint guy," Steve replied easily, until he realized that Clint wouldn't know what he meant. "He was a guy I met on the street. He said he was lost, couldn't find a coffee shop where he was going to meet a friend. He smelled like mint gum."

"Mint gum?" Tony mused to himself.

"I brought him back to SHIELD to get him a map, but then he…" Steve's voice seemed to choke up on itself, and Steve realized that he was about to cry. Steve grit his teeth, trying to stop the harsh burning in his throat and cool down the heat on his cheeks. He hadn't cried even when he had the shit beat out of him or when he had to sit in the police office for an hour feeling like he couldn't do anything. He wasn't going to start crying now. "He wanted to go into Coulson's office, but I told him "no". He threatened me, so I punched him. I-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Tony interrupted. "You punched him?"

"Yeah, got a one shot to his jaw. But then…" Steve didn't want to go into the details of how badly he had been hurt. It was obvious, anyways. "Afterwards, he broke into our safe and took everything, all the money and files that Coulson had. And I couldn't stop him."

There was a clatter of sound behind him and then a stomping of boots.

Steve turned his head towards the noise, uncertain of what was going to happen next.

"Bucky?"

Steve's front door slamming closed was his only reply.

"Gulpyy mal'chik," Natasha grumbled to herself.

Steve felt tears threaten at the corners of his eyes. He tilted his head up, hoping that gravity would force the tears back into his eyes.

"Let's get some ice on that bruise," Clint stood up, moving toward the kitchen. "Then you can go to your room and take a nap. Don't worry about your hallway. We'll take care of it."

Steve let out another shaky breath. "Thanks."

"I think I'll stay for a little bit," Tony sat heavily on a nearby chair. "Make sure you're doing alright, take some time staring at your incredibly drab walls."

Steve almost smiled at the quip.

A hand touched Steve's shoulder. "It'll be okay, Steve," Natasha reassured him.

Steve reached up to touch the hand, consoling himself in what great friends he had.

* * *

Translations:

Gulpyy mal'chik- Stupid boy


	8. Brock Rumlow

Days had passed since the incident, and the bruising on Steve's face was finally starting to fade away, just like how his life was starting to return to normal. At least on the surface level. There were some major changes in Steve's life that could only be noticed by those steeped in the environment.

Coulson made sure to always be around when Steve was working. Steve's boss checked in with the blond on an hourly basis, and would always make sure he had Steve's exact working hours for the next day. The semi-hovering put Steve's teeth on edge, constantly reminding Steve of "Mint".

Sam had also changed. Though he never asked Steve what happened to his eye, Sam would now meet Steve outside of his apartment complex and walk with him to his work. The change was so natural that it took Steve two days to notice. And once he realized he was being guarded to and from work, he never found a good way to bring it up. So Steve let the problem go.

Plus, Sam was always fun to talk to.

His relationship with Bucky had become a facade of routine. The two carried on like nothing had changed, but Steve couldn't forget how Bucky had flown into a rage. The idea left itself at the back of Steve's mind, coming up at quiet times when the two were sitting in his living room listening to music, or trying to make food in Steve's kitchen.

And he now had plenty of quiet time to think about it. After the day Bucky had punched Steve's wall, the brunette became edgy. He would still talk to Steve, joking and teasing, but there would be long bouts of silence between the two. In those quiet times, Steve felt like he was being scrutinized under a microscope.

Thankfully, Steve had the rest of the apartment complex to liven up his apartment. Natasha and Clint started to come by for dinner every night, joking about Steve looking lonely when he ate by himself. Tony would randomly appear at Steve's door, coming into his apartment and talking Steve's ear off, helping to fill the silence that was coming between Steve and Bucky. Even Bruce had started to come around for soft conversations about places he had been in his lifetime.

Probably the most surprising change was in Loki and Thor. Well, more of Loki in particular. Steve had run into the duo five times in the last two days, which was four times more often than he usually saw them in 2 weeks.

The first time they met, Steve was certain that Loki would pull him apart and painfully poke at Steve's inability to protect himself. But to Steve's growing surprise, and concern, Loki had stayed fairly silent through all exchanges. The man who couldn't let a good insult slide, who always had the last verbal jab, was being shockingly quiet. It was beginning to terrify Steve.

Steve wished he could talk about this new and unpleasant change with someone, but Steve couldn't take the situation to Bucky. He was too afraid of what might happen, how his "best friend" would react.

Steve didn't know what was going on in Bucky's mind anymore.

Steve sighed as he moved around his kitchen, arbitrarily cleaning counters. Steve didn't want this distance to continue between Bucky and him. Bucky had been the closest thing to family that he had felt in a while. But now, everything was starting to fall apart.

Steve fiddled with his sunglasses turning the situation over in his mind. How could he relax around Bucky again? What was he nervous about in the first place?

The answer came to his mind to quickly, and Steve shoved it away, not wanting to think about the reality of it all. He instead focused on making himself a lunch. Maybe two lunches, in case Bucky came over. Steve ignored how his stomach flipped at the thought.

Steve was getting ready to cut a tomato into slices, when a knock came at the door.

"One moment please," Steve called out as he carefully placed the knife back into the knife holder.

Steve moved to his door, curious at who could possibly be waiting for him. Bucky would always walk straight into his room with a short remark so Steve knew who entered. Natasha and Clint always made plans with him before hand, and Steve knew for a fact that there was nothing going on today.

The knocking echoed through the room again making Steve frown at the impatience behind the sound. It made him think of Tony, but Tony would usually be yelling at this time, or ignoring all Steve's privacy and opening the door with a flourish.

He finally reached the door, carefully feeling out the handle, and yanking the door open.

"Are you Steve Rogers?" A deep voice that he had never heard before, asked him as he opened the door to its fullest.

"Uh…" Steve paused, unsure if he should answer that question. Was there a problem that he didn't know about? "Yes, that's me, um…"

The next words froze Steve in place. "I am Detective Nick Fury of the NYPD. This is my partner Detective Maria Hill. We came here to ask you a few questions. May we come in?"

Had they found that guy who attacked him? Were they here to ask him more questions about the incident? Steve didn't think he could take any more interviews. Or did something terrible happen at work?

His mind beginning to buzz in confusion, Steve took a small step away from the door, giving enough room for the detectives to enter his living room.

He felt the swish of wind as the two passed by him and could hear the movement of their clothes. He could hear the squeak of his couch as his guests took a seat.

Still standing by the door, Steve racked his mind for proper things to get guests. "Can I get you a drink, or something?" Steve tried out.

"No, we're both fine," Detective Fury dismissed quickly. "Please, have a seat."

Feeling like _he_ should be the one saying that, Steve carefully moved across the room towards one of the two chairs that came with his couch. Once seated, he turned his head towards the detectives to show that he was listening.

"I'll cut right to the chase, Mr. Rogers," Detective Fury began, his voice harsh. There was a sound of paper rustling. "Do you know this man?"

Steve paused in surprise and confusion. Seriously? "I'm sorry, I don't know…"

"It's a rather simple answer, have you seen this man before." Fury repeated, sounding like he was losing patience.

"Uh, well. I really don't know. Uh, you see," Steve reached up, slowly pulling off his sunglasses. "I'm blind."

A pregnant pause made itself at home in the room as Steve stared in the general direction of the detectives, and, Steve was sure, the detectives stared back. Steve allowed the silence to stay, allowing his guests time to gather themselves.

Finally the other detective, Hill spoke out. Her voice had a raspy undertone. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Rogers. We didn't hear anything about your… predicament."

"It's fine," Steve murmured, putting his glasses back on. It was always hard to take that type of comment. "I guess I should know whoever it is you're holding, since you came to my apartment. What's his name?"

"Brock Rumlow," Hill murmured. "He was found this morning. He was murdered."

"I've never heard of him." Steve interjected

Fury began again. "Two days ago at 9 o'clock in the morning, Brock Rumlow was found in a back alley on 11th Avenue. That's 20 blocks from this apartment complex. Your wallet was found at a crime scene." There was the crinkle of plastic before something relatively light hit the table. "Do you know how it got there in the first place?"

"My wallet?" Steve parroted back in surprise. "Well, I guess that's rather simple, sir. I was jumped five days ago, and my wallet and cellphone were stolen. I made a formal statement at the police station. But since I didn't get a good… look, at the perpetrator, and because they didn't really have much to go off of, the case must have been dropped." Steve shrugged at the situation.

"Could you describe that man now?" Hill asked.

Steve let out a small sigh. "He was about a head taller than me. So, 5' 11". He had a… beard? Not full beard, but…scruff. Uh, let's see, he smelled like mint. Like Spearmint gum. That's all I can think of."

"So 5'11" and a beard. That could be our guy," Hill's voice was pitched to Steve's left, so she must have been talking to Detective Fury.

"And with Roger's ID and wallet it's definitely more likely," Fury responded.

"He seemed like the type to get into bar brawls," Steve supplied, "I guess the guy decided to get in another fight. A losing fight."

It was oddly satisfying to think that the man who jumped him got killed later for similar actions. It was a terrible thought, but Steve couldn't help but feel that justice was served.

"If only it was a fight," Hill sighed out.

Steve frowned at the ominous response. "What? What do you mean?"

There was a sound of shifting around before, "It was a calculated and strategic attack. First, Rumlow was shot through the calf with an arrow."

"An arrow?" Steve asked, in shock.

"Yes, an arrow. Then he was dragged farther into the alleyway. He was severely beaten, stabbed 27 times and then his head was cut from his body and displayed on an overturned barrel drum."

"Jesus," Steve whispered out, feeling the edge of disturbed and passing it in a rapid descent.

"And after that, after his personal effects, like his wallet, cellphone, and apparently your wallet, were taken from his person and set next to his head, he was blown up."

"Blown-!" Steve couldn't even finish the sentence. Out of all the things to happen, what are the chances the guy would be shot with an arrow and then blown up! What the hell was going on here?

"Yes, blown up," Fury confirmed. "But however strange this combination of attacks is, what's even stranger is who they could be connected to."

When Steve didn't respond, Hill took over. "Have you heard of the Cupid Killer?" When Steve shook his head, she continued. "He's a serial killer that has recently been hunting down women all over town. These women, usually girls who are out to party for the night, are drugged in one of the bars along the lower East end. The women go missing for a week and are found on a rooftop with some part of their body, usually their eyes or hair, missing and an arrow in their heart."

"What has that-" Steve began.

"The same arrow head that is used to kill those girls is a match to the one that was used to maim Brock Rumlow."

"Perhaps you have heard of the Winter Soldier?" Fury cut in. Before Steve could even process what Hill had said. "The Winter Soldier is said to be a type of vigilante. All of his victims are corrupt government officials. Their misdeeds are found laid out for the police, and they are killed with a specific knife, a 5 mm serrated stainless steel blade. Would you like to take a guess the type of knife that was used to stab Brock 27 times?"

"And the explosives that were used to destroy Rumlow's body," Hill's voice echoes in, "That mixture of explosives can be connected to a run of bombings that have been targeting famous people throughout the United States. Also known as the serial bomber, Iron Man."

Steve wished he could respond, but his mouth just hung open in horror.

"That isn't to mention the possibility of drugs in his blood that might be connected to the missing cases of the serial kidnapper "The Hulk", or the possibility of the Tarot Card killers being involved in the display of corpse's head. Both of these need further investigation." Fury's voice was back to that strong, accusatory growl. "As you can see, Mr. Rogers, you're name is now connected to the intersection of three known serial killers and two possible others. Needless to say, the NYPD is very interested in closing this case."

Maybe the floor dropped out from under him. Maybe that was why Steve felt like his stomach was in his throat. Or maybe this was just a dream. Steve had finally fallen asleep standing up, and these soft voices were just his imagination put on its wildest setting.

"Mr. Rogers, we are here to protect and serve." Hill's voice came through like a harmonic counterpart, "We want to find out what happened to this man and make sure that nothing could possibly happen to you. If there is any information you have, anyone you know that you told about your fight with Mr. Rumlow. Maybe someone that you think has acted strange or has frightened you in the past. You need to tell us. Now."

Steve didn't know what to say. Steve didn't know any serial killers! Those type of people just weren't the type of people Steve dealt with!

"Why me…?" Steve muttered out. "How can- How are you sure that all of these people are connected to me?" His voice had raised in volume and pitch.

"Mr. Rogers, we are going to have to ask you to calm down," Hill's calm voice rebutted. "You are just a few of our leads, but we need to follow that lead to its end. I know this is a lot to take in right now, and I understand if you are feeling apprehensive, but I need you to tell us if you know anyone that you think could cause a threat to yourself or other people."

Steve sat there stunned. Someone who was a threat?

"I don't know-"

Steve's front door swung open.

"Steve, I came-" Bucky's greeting stuttered to a halt.

"Buck."

Something tickled at the back of Steve's mind, but the flood of relief as his friend walked into his apartment, swamped over it. "Come over here. Uh, this is Detective Fury and Hill. They were coming to talk to me about a… a murder."

Steve heard both detectives stand up and turn to face his neighbor.

"What's a murder got to do with Steve?" Bucky's voice was sharp and his tone frigid.

"They found my wallet there. They thought he might be the guy who stole it." Steve filled in as he listened to the heavy boots clomp into his living room, circling until Steve was between Bucky and the two strangers in his house.

"And who might you be?" Detective Hill interjected, her voice similarly cool.

Steve grimaced. Bucky could make enemies in moments, and sometimes he chose the most inopportune times to do so. "This is my next door neighbor, Bucky Barnes. He comes over every once in a while to help me with dinner and stuff."

"Mr. Barnes, is it?" Detective Fury asked, his voice had a lilt to it that reminded Steve of cats beginning to hunt.

A low noncommittal hum from Bucky reminded Steve of lions getting ready to fight.

"What do you do for a job, Mr. Barnes?" Detective Fury questioned.

"I work on the docks," Bucky intoned.

"How long have you had that job?"

"4 or 5 years."

"Who do you work for?"

"A company called Red Room."

"And where were you the night of March 15th between the hours of 10 and 11 o'clock?

Steve had been feeling off balance when Fury had started asking such quick questions, but the last question finally spurred him into action. "What the hell are you asking? Bucky has nothing to do with this!"

"We are simply asking basic follow-up questions, Mr. Rogers."

"Are you accusing Bucky of… of killing this man?" Steve asked, outraged and terrified in equal measure.

"Steve, calm down," A heavy hand pressed against Steve's shoulder. A thumb pushed into his shoulder muscle in a one handed massage. Steve hesitated, taking a deep breath before he settled down.

"March 15th?" Bucky repeated. "That's last Saturday? I was out with friends at a bar called Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Children. I'm not sure how long we stayed there, but it was long enough to be kicked out with the night crowd."

Another wave of relief crashed over Steve as Bucky told them his alibi. It couldn't have been Bucky. Not like Steve had thought it was possible in the first place, but at least Bucky had verifiable proof.

A small part of Steve's mind wondered why Bucky hadn't invited him along.

"Can anyone verify that?" Detective Hill shot back.

"Well, I was with most of the apartment complex residents, but if they don't work there's a bartender named Weasel. He should have remembered us."

There was the flip of paper and the scratch of a pencil.

"We will be checking into that," Detective Fury announced, before standing up. "It seems there are no other things to discuss at this time. Hill, let's go."

They were moving towards the door when Hill paused and moved back towards Steve. Her hand touched his unoccupied arm.

"Please report any strange occurrences or suspicious activity to our department immediately. Any coincidences that don't add up, or if you have any suspicions about people you know," Hill bade him.

Steve nodded curtly. He might not like the police, but there was no reason for him to not help their search for a murderer.

And it wasn't like Steve could help them much in the first place. Steve didn't know anyone who could kill people. It just… wasn't possible.

Steve listened to the cops bid their goodbyes and close the door before collapsing onto the couch.

"You have got to be kidding me."


	9. The Avengers

"I can't believe that happened," Steve sighed out, sinking further into the cushion.

"I know," Bucky grumbled, "When I came in and saw them sitting there, I thought…"

Steve nodded along to the unfinished sentence. "Yeah, I thought I was going to jail too." Steve let out a laugh as he remembered the initial panic when they introduced themselves as police detectives.

The grin faded as Steve remembered the real reason they had arrived.

"There are murderers out there, Buck. People who just kill anyone they want. I didn't even know they existed until now."

"I don't think they murder just anybody," Bucky murmured, his steps knocking against wood as the other man made his way over to where Steve was sitting.

"Who can live in a city like this?" Steve exclaimed, barely noticing that Bucky had said anything at all. "How can you live in a place where you might just stop existing?"

"Steve?" The couch creaked as Bucky settled next to the smaller of the duo.

"Who would notice if I disappeared? I would just become another name on a list of dead in some file somewhere!" Steve ranted on.

"Steve!" Bucky's arm wrapped around Steve's shoulder, a hand clutching his bicep. "You wouldn't just disappear, I wouldn't allow that! I'll protect you."

The emotions that were behind that promise were too big for Steve to focus on. He wasn't in a place where he could respond that deeper meaning that seemed to layer into everything Bucky was saying.

So Steve took the easier route out, refocusing on something that wasn't… them.

Steve shook his head, trying to clear it. "They were waiting for him. They had planned out a way to get him alone! Multiple people came together and worked together to... to murder him!"

Bucky hummed in response.

"They killed him, Bucky," Steve murmured, feeling the long lean body, stretched out to his right. "They beat him, stabbed him, and then… blew him up! They blew him up!" He had turned towards his friend, reaching out to feel that fabric under his hands, the heat of the man's chest worming its way up through the knitted cotton. "Can you believe that?"

"So, you're angry about them killing him?" Bucky asked casually, "Is that why you're so worked up?"

"Worked up? Bucky! They blew him up!" Steve repeated.

"So it was how they killed him," Bucky clarified.

"What? No! Well, I mean-"

"'Cause you don't seem to torn up about this guy dying, so it must be about how he died," Bucky continued. There seemed to be a strange sort of desperation in how he talked.

"I feel bad!" Steve argued back, "Someone's dead, so…" Steve began uncertainly. Was he a terrible person for the small piece of triumph that he felt at the idea that someone died who deserved it? "Look, I just feel… I feel…responsible."

The way Bucky drew back showed more surprise then the strangled, "Responsible?"

"Like I caused his death. Like it was my fault he died. And I'm a little shocked on how they killed him. I mean, blowing him up…" Steve really couldn't get past that single idea. That someone would take the time to carefully set up a body to be obliterated was…

"What do you mean 'you caused his death'?" Bucky murmured into Steve's hair.

"Well," Steve murmured into a collarbone, "they either randomly attacked him and placed my ID there to say that they are going to kill me next," Bucky's snort brought a small smile to Steve's face. As if serial killers would take time to come after some small, blind man. "Or Rumlow was murdered because I talked about getting attacked." Steve finished off, quickly.

Steve listened to the silence, to Bucky steady breaths, and feeling his steady heartbeat. The hand on his shoulder relaxed, sliding around and pulling Steve against that steady beat.

Finally Bucky declared, "If the guy is the same one who attacked you, then he deserved it. I see this as you being avenged."

Steve frowned at the idea that Rumlow deserved it, but he… Did Bucky say avenged? That's a very specific word to use. It reminded Steve of Tony and his "Avenger" file. That had been a weird name at the time, a word that Steve had never heard used in common conversation before, but here it came up again.

"But I caused his death," Steve replied, his mind twirling around the word "avenged".

"What? No, you didn't cause his death, Steve. Other people killed him. Maybe they killed him for you, but you didn't hurt that man at all." Bucky assured, his voice was confident. "You are blameless in this Steve."

Steve felt Bucky's thumb slide against his side. It reminded Steve how close he was to Bucky, pushed cheek to hip up against the man, an arm wrapped around his back, anchoring him in place. Steve could feel the strong, lean muscles pressed up against his much smaller, much weaker frame.

He fisted his hands in the soft material of Bucky's shirt, feeling like that was the only reason he was staying still, that he wasn't flying through the air, or falling into the ground. He held on to steady himself.

"Blameless?" Steve asked, not really paying attention to what he was saying.

Those muscles could do some serious damage. Steve's apartment wall could attest to that. Bucky's explosive anger came to the forefront of Steve's mind. How aggressive Bucky got when Steve told him that he got attacked. Told him that he got attacked…

Detective's Hill's request echoed back in his ears. She said "strange and suspicious activity". Lots of odd coincidences. People who knew what happened to Steve.

Bucky went out to a bar without him. Didn't ask him if he wanted to come. Didn't even tell him they were leaving.

They... as in more than one.

"Steve? Are you okay?" Fingers brushed against the death grip that Steve had on Bucky's shirt.

Steve wondered when he started to tense up so much, when his breath started to quicken, and his heart started to race.

"Um…" Steve forced his hand to relax, forced himself to take slower breaths. "Yeah… sorry, I was just… thinking that you were right. Rumlow's death probably had nothing to do with me."

They lay there in silence, Bucky seemed content to think about whatever was on his mind, and Steve was slowly counting out his breaths, hoping to keep himself calm and relaxed.

"So are you gonna contact those policemen again?" Bucky asked.

Steve leaned his head against Bucky's chest, listening to the heartbeat.

"I…"

Steve could hear Bucky's heart start to speed up as Steve's voice drifted off, his mind thinking about justice, and what a single person could do.

"I don't know anything that would be helpful to them."

He could feel Bucky relax beneath him, the hand slowly sliding over his side again. "Yeah. You can't help them if you don't know anything."

Steve nodded along, but his mind was elsewhere. Being blind had changed how Steve perceived the world. Sometimes it was like he could almost taste words on his tongue. And this lie, like all the rest, tasted bitter.

* * *

About 2 weeks ago:

"We need to kill him," The Winter Soldier informed the rest of the Avengers as they sat in Tony Stark's living room. "I'll even pay. How much do you want?"

"Hey now," Tony growled standing up, "Do you really think that I would allow you to pay us for this job? I want that son of a bitch just as much as you do. Nobody touches my tenants."

"We would also be happy to lend assistance without any payment," Natasha purred from her spot, lounging on the couch. Clint was seated next to her his arms stretched out on the back of the couch and his feet propped up on the table in front of them. "But I wonder why you would even ask us. I would expect you to want to kill this man yourself."

James met Natasha's green eyes with a small glare. That had been his plan when he heard Steve's story. He could already picture the man's final death throes. But in his imaginings he found a small caveat.

"I can't find this man on my own," James confessed. "I have no name to go off of and Steve's description is too vague." That last statement came through clenched teeth as James remembered once again why the description was so vague and why this attack was so despicable. It took him a minute to focus himself before he could continue. "I can't hunt like this. I need help finding the bastard."

"And quickly as well," Loki pronounced, stepping confidently into the room, his older brother trailing behind, his mouth in a troubled frown. "The evidence of the crime would be in the wallet taken from the young Rogers. If the criminal gets rid of that wallet before we find him, it will be impossible to be sure that we punished the right person."

The Winter Soldier twisted to look at the brothers, his eyes narrowing as his lips thinned. "You want to help?"

Loki gave a lofty shrug. "I don't like other people hunting in my territory." Was the calm reply.

A grin stole across Tony's face. "Then it's all settled. Everyone's fine doing pro bono and we all want this to finish quickly. Now, where should we look for our little 'friend'? If I had a hundred dollars and a stack of computer disks I had to sell, I would… buy more C-4."

"This isn't about you, Tony," Bruce admonished from his seat in the corner.

"What about a bar?" Clint offered up. "Spend money getting wasted."

"Or a gun store," Natasha considered. "To get ready for another break in."

"Rogers mentioned a knife," Loki murmured, "I doubt the man would switch his weapon choice." Natasha raised a single eyebrow.

Tony shifted to look at James. "So that would make him and Icy Comrade here twinsies."

James sneered at the older man.

"Either way," Bruce broke in, stopping the fight that was about to break out, "he will have to sell the disks, or the information on the disks before he can use all of the money."

"A pawn shop." Natasha nodded along with the Hulk's thinking.

"Or a computer store," Clint added.

"What about a fencer?" Thor brought up.

"You mean a fence, you dolt," Loki sniffed. "But you are right. The disks were probably given to a fence instead of a common pawnshop. The man seemed to know what he was doing. How else would he have been able to break that safe open?"

James watched as Natasha's eyes narrowed as once again Loki had corrected her. A smile pulled at the corner of his lips. What he wouldn't give to watch the red head beat the living daylights out of the cocky bastard.

"So we need to just run up every fence in this area, looking for someone who has SHIELD's computer thingies. Then bam, we have the bastard. All we do next is send him a little package in the mail and then, BOOM!" Tony's eyes lit up at the thought of "Mint" opening one of his special packages. The fire and impending carnage glinted in his eyes. "We won't have to deal with him anymore!"

The Winter Soldier frowned. "No. I get to kill him. I will make him pay for his crimes against Steve. I will erase his existence from society."

Tony huffed in disgust. "What, you gonna stab him? That's so boring. There's no passion! There's nothing to draw your attention! No one will even notice his passing!"

"They don't need to notice," the Winter Soldier growled. "All I care about is making that man disappear."

Tony rolled his eyes and went to argue when he looked at James' face. The grey eyes were flat and cold like slate. But they had a focus to them, an intensity even in their deadened state. The Iron Man rethought his words. "Fine. But I get to take care of the body when he's dead. We wouldn't want to leave any pieces for the police to find, now would we."

"We can not allow that," Thor interjected from the doorway. "If we are to help with the hunt we must be allowed to offer the man to Odin."

"Even if he isn't worthy of the honor," Loki scoffed.

Thor nodded as Tony groaned. "Are you kidding me? We are not setting the man up like some stupid voodoo doll."

"They are Tarot cards," Loki snapped back.

"Whatever. We won't have time to set up such a complicated scene. We're in the streets here, not some fancy-shmancy hotel. We will barely have any time with Snow Scout stabbing the man to death. It'll take forever for him to die! We should just blow him up!"

"No." James intoned.

Tony sighed at the quick denial. "Look, we won't have time for a long… whatever it is you guys do. We find the guy, Sniffles does his thing, and then I blow it up so we leave no evidence. Plus, I already called dibs."

"We can not disrespect Odin, Man of Iron," Thor growled, staring frigidly at the shorter man. "We will have the man's body."

"What about half of the man's body?" Bruce spoke up from where he had been silently watching the growing fight. "Doesn't the card of "Judgment" usually have an angel arising from clouds, blowing a trumpet? You could use half of the man, maybe even just the head as the angel, and create the rest of the card background fairly easily. That way you get your card and Tony gets his explosions."

Tony grinned at the prospect, and after a silent conference the brothers finally nodded in agreement.

"So where do you fit into this, Terror Twins?" Tony asked, turning to the seated couple.

"I can be an insurance policy," Clint grinned, "If he tries to run I'll make it so that he doesn't."

Natasha played with her hair, looking at the beautiful red locks. "You'll need some way to get him out of the bar. I'm sure that I can… inspire him."

Loki scoffed, "What if you can't succeed? What if your wiles aren't enough? We can't kill him unless we can hunt him."

Clint foot slammed into the table as he uncrossed his feet. He causally pulled a knife from a leg sheath, keeping his eyes locked on the younger Odinson brother. "I'm sure Nat can deal with him."

Loki glared back, "Deal with him? How vile. I don't understand how you can support her as she seduces everyone around her."

"Does that include you?" Natasha asked calmly, only the lightening in her eyes portraying her anger.

Loki sneered, "Little whore-"

The slide of steel on steel.

"Do you want to say that again?"

Thor shoved himself in front of his brother. "Are you daring to threaten-"

"Enough," Bruce grunted from where he sat. The room froze, turning to look at the usually quiet brunette.

His eyes peeked from behind spectacles, the green seeming to be lit with uncontrollable rage. Though the Hulk was the least active of their group, he was probably the most unstable of the 7. His concoctions were rarely used, but when he decided to, the effects were devastating. He once wiped out an entire borough in Las Cruces after he was wrongfully evicted from his apartment complex.

The other tenants were wary of the quiet man. They knew what he could do, but they also knew how cold he could be while doing so. They were all on the spectrum of sociopathology, not really caring how their actions affected others, but there was something different about how Bruce approached the world, and that difference always kept the others in check.

"I have developed a drug that will cause dizziness and disorientation. If Natasha needs extra help with moving the subject, she can simply administer the drug and then lure it out to the alley." Bruce met each members' eyes in equal measure. "Will that suffice?"

Tony glanced around watching in glee as the group fell into line. "Well, let's get started!" He exclaimed as he rubbed his hands together.

~Fin~

* * *

First off, I would like to thank everyone who has commented on this story. I'm sorry I haven't responded to anyone, but I find that I tend to be terribly inconsistent with who I respond to and who I don't, so I decided to be fair to everyone and just not reply to anyone's comment… However, your comments really do feed me and my always present ego, spurring me to write more often. Thank you!

Next up, I have realized that I have left this ending rather open. However, the story is finished. I have been toying with the idea of writing some one-shots to pair with this story, but I'm not really sure what the subject matter would be. I like this universe. It's very… fun, if twisted, and I would love to stay here and flesh things out, or write more characters in, but I don't really have any clear ideas.

I was thinking of the Maximoff twins and of Vision, and how to incorporate them. Maybe write interactions between characters who you don't usually see deal with one another (like see James and Loki talk while Thor is elsewhere… right… talk… ha) or do some POVs from other character's, perhaps even a later reaction from Steve.

If people have something specific they would like to see, please leave a comment. Writing specific prompts for other people tends to give me more drive, then writing stories I'm not completely invested in for myself.

I hope you enjoyed this story, and I again thank you for taking the time to read this. I hope I'll see you on another of my stories.


	10. Merry Christmas

A small Christmas tale…

* * *

The apple was cold and wet in his hand, the rough edges strange in comparison to the usually smooth peel. He could feel the serrations of the peeler on the apple flesh. He held it to the board in front of him and took the knife in his other hand to slice the apple in half.

"Alright, can you please let someone else do that?" Sam's drawl cut in, a hint of anxiety making it sharper than usual. "I don't know if you realized this, Steve, but you're blind."

Steve chuckled. "What?" He mock gasped. "I'm bind? Sam, why didn't you tell me?" He put one of the apple halves on its face and started to slowly cut slices of apple.

"I'm serious man, let someone else handle the sharp slicey things! Why can't you just sit on the couch and enjoy the music?"

Steve tilted his head, stopping all motion as he listened to the litany of Christmas songs coming from his small radio "I can hear them from here, Sam. And I want to be of some help, this is my house and I did invite all of you to this party. And this is my mother's apple pie. I'm not gonna allow stranger's to make my mother's apple pie."

"And," a rumble shivered through Steve's back as the person that was cuddled up behind him mumbled out, "he's doing a good job. He can cut an apple. And if he was going to hurt himself, I would step in."

Steve couldn't help the tingly feeling that curled down his spine as Bucky spoke from just next to his ear. The heat of the other body was relaxing and natural against his back. It was one of Bucky's favorite cuddling positions.

Sam went quiet at Bucky's comments, but Steve could feel the unease that still filled the air.

"Fine," Steve relented, placing the apple and knife squarely down on the surface in front of him. He then reached down to the arms wrapped around his waist, and pulled hands to place them out in front of them. "Can you take care of this Buck?"

Another shiver racked through Steve's body as Bucky let a short sigh out against his neck. Bucky grumbled a response and the blond man slipped under an arm and out of the hold of his boyfriend.

He turned to look in Sam's direction. "Happy?"

"Yes." Was the resolute response. Steve rolled his eyes at his strange friend.

He took in a deep breath, smelling the ham in the oven and the vegetables that Sam was cutting by the sink. There was the hint of apples and spices from the apple cider and a warm undercurrent of chocolate from his living area. There was also a spike of mint alcohol from the Peppermint Schnapps that Tony had brought to get everyone at the party wasted.

Steve wandered out into the living room, hearing the small chatter of conversation from the rest of his guests. From what he could tell, Natasha was on the far side, talking quietly with Bruce, but it was hard to hear anything with the way that Thor was booming right next to him, telling a joke about a handmaiden to a humming Clint.

Steve could only guess that Tony must have left the room for a moment, since there was no quick machine gun remarks, and Loki must be sitting on the couch glaring at everyone again.

Steve stepped next to Thor as he finished his joke.

"… it was a SWAN!" Thor's laughter boomed out of him and through Steve's very bones. It made Steve grin at the power and genuine laughter in the man's voice.

"You're kidding me," Clint groaned, a small chuckle rippling out of him. "I've decided, I do not want to meet any of your friends. What do you think, Steve?"

Steve blinked at being suddenly pulled into the conversation, but took it with stride. Clint always liked to try to put him off balance. "Wouldn't know, I missed half of what was being said," Steve replied honestly.

A huge hand smacked against his shoulder in a hearty slap. "You would love to meet them, Friend Rogers. They are most exciting and interesting people. I have a great story about Fandral and a boar."

"Oh god," Clint mumbled into a drink.

Steve turned to "look" up at the giant beside him. "Well I was actually just making rounds to see if everyone's doing okay. Did you guys get enough hot chocoloate?"

The hand on his shoulder squeezed in a friendly manner. "You are being quite a gracious host, Friend Rogers. I have never felt so well taken care of."

"Oh come off it, " a cold voice snapped from behind Steve. "The little one asked a basic question. If he was a _good_ host, dinner would be ready by now."

Steve tilted his head in surprise. Apparently Loki wasn't on the couch but on one of the lounge chairs. Which was good for Steve, because at least now he knew that someone wouldn't be taking up the entire couch for the remainder of the evening.

The friendly grip on Steve's shoulder turned harsh at the sneering. " _Steve_ is doing a more than adequate job as our host. And as for dinner, he said it would be ready when they could finish cooking the ham, brother."

Steve let out an inward sigh as the two brothers started to bicker. He really hoped that Thor would start to notice when his brother wanted more attention so that their would be fewer of these drawn out arguments, but that future looked like it wouldn't arrive without a little help.

"I came because you wanted to come here! But if that's how you feel, then fine! I'm going home."

Steve actually sighed. Make that a _lot_ of help.

"Woah woah woah! Where's Reindeer Games think he's going? We haven't even started this party?" Tony's obnoxious voice cut through the rest of the sound in the room.

Steve didn't know if wanted to grin or actually let out a full on groan. Tony was always a surprise when he dealt with the Odinson brothers. Sometimes he could make even Loki let out a little chuckle(usually at Thor's expense), but more often than not he would just transfer the annoyance that Loki usually held for the world solely onto himself.

"Stop calling me that!" Loki snapped back.

Ooh goody, it was going to be the second option.

"What, and miss all the fun?"

"What is that name supposed to mean anyways?" Loki cried in exasperation.

"Well you are obviously Gabriel, and your brother there is Rudy. Yeah it's not the perfect comparison but I thought that Dead Ringers was a little to on the nose." Tony blathered. "I also thought of Children of the Corn, but that movie freaked me out when I was a little kid and I never could get over it. Though you would be a pinch hitter for Issac, and your brother here could be a pretty close Malachai. Maybe not with as much dead eyed staring and screaming, though. "

"I don't. Understand. What you are saying, " Loki pronounced slowly as if he was hoping that if he said it slowly enough Tony would finally get the message.

"Serious? What a shame! You're really missing out on some great movies…"

Steve wandered away from the group as Tony started listing off different movies that Loki needed to see and Loki told him in no simpler words, that he really didn't care.

Steve moved over to the two quieter members of his party.

"Who started it this time?" Natasha's soothing voice questioned.

Steve turned his head in her direction. "Want to take a guess?"

Bruce let out a sigh. "I had been hoping those two would try to avoid each other for an evening. It's Christmas, and it's _your_ Christmas party."

Steve shrugged. "It's kinda hard to avoid each other when there are only eight people in a room. Maybe I should invite more people next year," he mused.

"That is completely unnecessary," Natasha replied coolly.

"If they really start to become a problem I'll put something in their drinks to calm them down," Bruce reassured Steve, sending a quite different type of shiver down the blonde's spine.

Steve was trying to think of something to reply with when he heard the sound of heavy clomping coming from the kitchen. He tipped his head so that he could track the sound as it moved past Tony and Loki, who were still arguing, and over to where he, Natasha and Bruce were standing.

Arms curled around his stomach as a large body pressed up tight behind him.

"The pie is finished and Sam's finally done with all the vegetables. Now we just wait for the ham to finish cooking and we can start eating." Bucky informed the side of Steve's neck.

"Is Sam out of the kitchen as well?" Steve asked.

Bucky let out a non-committal grumble.

"Yes, it seems he has finally been freed," Bruce answered instead. "He looks a fair amount paler, though." Humor laced the man's voice.

Steve sighed. "Bucky…"

"I didn't say anything!" Bucky protested, his arms tightening around Steve's waist.

'That was probably worse,' Steve thought to himself, kicking himself for leaving the two alone. But really, Sam needed to get over his fear of Bucky. He should understand by now that Bucky won't hurt him!

Probably…

"Are you going to cling to Steve all night?" Natasha asked, a smirk hidden in her words.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Bucky challenged, his arms gentle, but his voice sharp.

"No," Natasha replied without hesitation, "I was just wondering if you were going to act like a child the entire evening."

There was a chuff from Bruce as Bucky snorted in disdain.

"He's mine, so I get to touch him."

Steve flushed at the phrasing.

"Because that is definitely a healthy relationship," Bruce cut in, his voice dry to the point of crackling.

"You want to say-"

"Hey Buck," Steve interrupted before James could really pick up steam with his aggression. Bucky was swift and strong, but Bruce was careful and callous. "Can we sit down? I feel like I've been standing all day."

Steve didn't think that he had somehow carefully and covertly extracted Bucky from the conversation, and from the long pause that came after Steve's words, Steve didn't think that the three killers in the conversation didn't realize exactly what he was doing and what it meant. But Steve also knew that Bucky could never say "no" to him if he asked nicely.

"Sure, do you want something to drink to? I can go grab you something?" Bucky capitulated quickly, pulling Steve backwards towards the right corner of the couch.

"I'm alright, I just wanted to sit down for a bit," Steve pulled at Bucky's arm, forcing the other man to sit in the corner of the couch so that Steve could lean against him.

The couch rocked backwards, the back board groaning under pressure.

"Tony, stop climbing over the back of my couch, you're going to break it, " Steve barked.

"I'm bored, we should play some sort of Christmas game." Tony announced, ignoring Steve's annoyance.

"Are there such games?" Thor asked at the same time Sam said "Absolutely not."

"Oh there are quite a few, my dear Thunder boy," Tony quipped before letting out a dramatic sigh. "You are such a party pooper, Sam-the-man. I even left explosions out of most of them. We should at least do some holiday traditions. Like sing a Christmas Carol!"

"No." Natasha warm voice was unyielding.

"Or… we could chug spiked hot chocolates!" Tony continued as if he had not been so swiftly cut off.

"You want a group of murderers to get utterly drunk together," Loki deadpanned.

"Wouldn't be my worst weekend night," Clint admitted.

"Well I want to do something with this small family like thing we have going on." Tony explained.

"Family?" Bruce wondered aloud.

There was a short laugh from Sam. "Oh god, I didn't notice! We should make a Christmas card."

There was a short gasp among the chuckles. "That would be perfect!" Tony exclaimed.

"Oh god, no," Sam stated, all humor gone from his voice. Thor let out another bout of laughter at the doomed voice.

Tony bulldozed on. "We should take a picture and create some cards with it! We could send one to Detective Fury!"

Steve shrugged at the idea. Pictures had lost their appeal, nowadays. He'd much rather have a small video.

"Come on, just a few pictures! Some one must have a camera somewhere," Tony continued.

"Are we seriously going to take a Christmas picture?" Clint asked, sounding a little shocked and still in disbelief.

"I would be overjoyed if I could have a memento of this day," Thor added. "We are so rarely in the same place at once."

"Yes! Avenger's Christmas!" Tony cheered.

"Oh god," Clint muttered. "Alright, I have my phone, we can use that."

There was muttering and shuffling of feet as Clint strode across the room to stand near the right corner.

Steve turned his head in the general direction that he thought Clint was standing. He put a generic smile on his face and waited. It should probably look okay if he wasn't staring directly at the camera lens.

Steve startled slightly as fingers touched his chin, shifting it farther to the right.

Steve turned his head willingly, assuming that he must have gotten the direction incorrect. However, Steve became more and more confused as his head was turned further and further right. Steve opened his mouth to comment when a brush of flesh touched his lips.

A hand cupped the back of his head as Steve leaned farther into the kiss, feeling the breaks in the skin of the dry lips pressed carefully against his own.

"Oh, come on, James! We're trying to take a picture here!" Tony yelled out, his voice exasperated.

"Tony…" Bruce sighed.

"I'm surrounded by idiots." Came a half hearted sigh from behind Steve.

Thor's heavy laugh reverberated around the room as Steve heard a quiet "cute," muttered by a very amused Natasha.

There was a click of a camera lens, and Steve reached up to the bearded face in front of him.

The chaste kiss broke and Steve couldn't help but grin at the man in front of him. An answering smile touched the edges of his fingers, making his heart soar.

"One more picture, Clint. Then we have to serve dinner and eat." Sam informed the room.

Steve just continued to grin as another click sounded. What a special family to spend a special holiday with.

* * *

Merry Christmas, my dear readers. And a Happy Hannukah and Joyous Kwanza to those who celebrate. To those who don't, may your break be long and filled with warmth.

As well as a Hopeful New Year, a nice Ramadan, a good Passover, happy Easter, and a myriad of other holidays that will be coming before I publish anything else.

However, hope is not lost. I am writing a sequel to this story, it will just take a very long time to come out. I hope to see you all there when it does.


End file.
